My life in pounds

Note: I’ve been thinking about how to blog this without sounding too confident or overtly insecure. I may be one or both of those, but weight was never something in which they applied. Not even now.

Weight was never an issue for me when I was growing. I was part of the track and field team all throughout my high school life, so maybe that helped. But I ate what I wanted when I wanted to. In college, I retained the figure because I had my running PE class for 1 sem, I had my extra-curricular activities (active in 8 orgs will you believe it haha) for 1 sem, core officer of two organizations in my senior year, and starved myself by ignorance ("Anorexic tendencies? Me? Doc, you must be mistaken.") in exchange for a place in the dean’s list for another year.

Graduation and a tumultuous short-lived love affair kept my appetite low for a few months after graduation.

Then, came Grilla, a restaurant and bar in Antipolo that I was supervisor of, together with one of my now-girlfriends (the girl in the Friend or Friendsters post below). That was six months of around 6 to 7 hours of sleep a day, minimum 10 hours of stay at work (almost always til past midnight), and lost appetite (yeah, that’s what happens when you hang around food all day).
At my heaviest, I was 89 pounds. At my lowest, I was at 72("Anorexic tendencies? Me? Doc, you lie."). Either way, no concern whatsoever for my weight.

Perfect.

But, after 6 months of working non-stop (resto supervisors only get 1 day off a week) for less pay than I could potentially make, I finally listened to my dad and jumped into the corporate world --- manageable workload, established processes, business suits, 8-5, yuppies.
The first bout of instant weight gain was the 2 weeks I spent in company training in Illinois. When I went home, BOOM! Everyone, including myself, noticed the weight gain. I tipped the scales at 93, from a previous weight of 85. Eight lousy pounds, you might think. Nah, those are eight big pounds for a girl who was blessed by God and her parents to not reach the 5 feet mark (almost, but not quite. Oh daddeh!). So 8 pounds on me make my tummy, waist, upper arms, and face bigger. It sucked. So I tried to get my weight back down to what it was before, but it wouldn’t budge even though I ate less. The lowest I got was 89. I attributed it to my bones growing bigger in size ("who you kiddin’?").

So 93-lb me went on with my workaday world, trying to ‘exceed expectations’, per company standards. Then, last year, I was sent to the US for some face-to-face client work for 6 months. I gained a few pounds, went up to 98, and I was starting to get concerned, when WHAM! Then-boyfriend broke up with me. NO appetite for food (or for anything else, for that matter), I went back down to 89. In fact, I got home to Manila after my 6-month stint and a coworker exclaimed "Ang payat mo! Ikaw lang ang napadala dun na bumalik dito ng mas mapayat" (‘You’re so thin. Youre the only one who was sent to the US who came back thinner’). I just laughed it off, but it was one of the very few good things that happened to me due to the breakup. Then, I got all better and started going out again. End of November, I was told that I was going to be assigned to the US again, right after my birthday. I was so glad to get the opportunity that (I guess) I started eating more --- my birthday, despedida, Christmas, and New Year. Right around February, I tipped the scales at a hundred. I went home and went to Boracay, and came back here after being told I looked like was getting bigger. Now, as you know, in September, I again went home briefly for a vaca. This time, everyone (as in EVERY SINGLE ONE) told me I was fat. I didn’t realize I grew so big. But I checked the scales and I was at 115 pounds.

115 lbs.

What!?!

WHAT!?!

But I wasn’t too concerned. Because I still felt that I was healthy, I wasn’t sickly, and my boyfriend loved my body just the way it was. Besides, my retort was "Ang cute ‘di ba?! Ang daming napipisil," with matching bubbly laughter. I felt as good as my laugh. I told people I would lose weight once I got tired of looking fat (same principle as hair coloring or nail decorations).

So now, here I am. I’ve started going to the gym again. Not because I want people to stop telling me I’m fat, but because I want to fit comfortably in my clothes again. I used to fit in a size 0 here. Now, I fit a size 2. Not bad, really, but I could do better. But I’m not starving myself. I’m eating three times a day and going to the gym three times a week now (with David Koz and Miles Davis). I feel like I can relate to obese people who used to be thin. I have crossed the line. The ‘ideal weight’ for my height was 92-98, I once read. And the 113 lbs that I carry now is way above that. My goal is just to get back to 95. Slowly. Surely. And without minding people calling me FAT. I am doing this for myself, not to please other people. Once I feel less sluggish and more fit (six-pack, here we come hahaha), I will stop.

So to people like me out there, love your body, love your mind, and don’t think twice about what other people say about how you look like. It only matters if it affects your health. How you look inside, no matter how overweight you think you look outside, will always, ALWAYS reflect on the outside IN THE END.

Here's to climbing 1,027 feet in a little less than 10 minutes last night (thanks, stairmaster), and the side advantage of bigger boobs care of MORE FAT (go 36-B!) hahaha.

Ayos sa blow-by-blow noh.

Whappppaaaaaaaaaaaaakkkkkkkkkk.