I have only the best intentions when it comes to my golden years, yet I am continually bombarded with my own lack of grace in the process. So far, in my quest to have a happy and/or contented retirement I have had issue after issue medically: heart attacks, strokes, cataracts, gall bladder...I mean what exactly is left?
After 50 plus years as a small yet admittedly voluptuous size, I have ballooned into what my mother would have called "pleasingly plumb but verging on fat". Why do our mothers (well American ones anyway) all seem to give us body dysmorphia? Going from size eight to size 16 is difficult enough without her words floating through my head.
And of course, with heart disease it is difficult to exercise to the point of actually burning calories so the weight will fall off....sustained exercise is all but impossible now.
That leaves starvation as the means to lose weight. And don't say "KETO" to me. I also have metabolic syndrome, that lovely diabetes mellitus precursor, so I can't eat what is on that diet and maintain my sugar levels. Besides eating all that meat puts me off mentally. I'd happily go vegetarian but could never get George to give up his hamburgers, and I refuse to cook two meals every night.
So, what's a girl to do?
I made a decision to say SCREW IT whenever I begin to feel "fat" or "less than" anyone because of my weight. I will quite happily float on into old age at a size 16...heck, I wouldn't even mind a size 22 now....except I'd need a new wardrobe and I am too cheap to get one.
So as long as my meds work, my eyes continue to see and my heart continue to beat I'm going to enjoy whatever time I have left. And if it bothers anyone? Well, that's THEIR problem. They can just get over it or look the other way.
