It feels like a death sentence, not being able to fit into your clothes any more.
When I was 23, I remember that I could fit into those cute "World Without Strangers" Giordano tees, Extra Small. I used to gleefully clear entire racks at Zara Kids on Sale season, happily squeezing my frame into clothes designed for 11 - 14 year olds. I fancied myself a "tween" - like the Olsen twins, or Lindsay Lohan, perhaps. Of course the clothes were tight. But my body was just as tight, and I enjoyed showing off.
Medium.
But what can I do? I simply enjoy eating too much.
"You're far from obese," Kirstie, our office accountant, pronounced. "Just much fatter than before."
It is a death sentence.
And unlike Julia Roberts' character in Eat, Pray, Love, getting a larger pair of jeans didn't necessarily open up the floodgates of unbridled gustatory hedonism. It simply gave me one important realization, in my post-tween years:
My waistline is around my waist, not resting on my pelvic bone.
My waistline is 31, no longer 27.
Thankfully, I found a way to eat my way to weight loss - and possible redemption. My friend Guy Young, who also happens to be Mr. Gay Hong Kong's nutritionist, is the poster boy for weight loss. He's my thin-spiration.
The Cambridge Weight Plan.
Day 2. I'm munching on a cranberry crunch bar for breakfast. I'm not feeling desperate or faint or cranky. In fact, I'm feeling very alive, alert, awake and enthusiastic.
The best antidote to a death sentence? Rediscovering your zest for life.
Tonight, Chris and I head off to the City Hall to hear countertenor Michael Chance sing.
With Affection,
James
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