Wednesday, January 6, 2010
My body and I are in a fight.
When I turned 26, my body declared war on drinking, eating whatever I want, chocolate, popcorn, drinking and more drinking. WHAT THE HELL, BODY? (Also, why must everything I consume go to my stomach and face rather than, ya know, my boobs?)
All of a sudden, I have to watch what I eat and start working out. Gone are the days of flitting around in tight tops while scarfing down five beers and a basket of onion rings dipped in ranch. Nobody told me this was going to happen.
In fact, my mom essentially told me the opposite. She's been teeny tiny her whole life. Didn't weigh 100 pounds until she got married and even now -- in her 50s -- she tops out around 112. And she's had babies. I, on the other hand, just look like I'm having babies. Not cool, stomach. I'm coming after you.
So, this is war, I guess. Stupid body. One thing's for sure: I'm not going down without a fight.