My Thoughts on the Treadmill

Thanks to a combination of laziness, Thanksgiving, and my antidepressant, I've gained 20 pounds...in three months. It's not easy to read or write that sentence.

Weight has always been my greatest struggle, the Roger Klotz to my Doug Funnie, the eternal enemy I'm destined to battle for the rest of my life. Over the years, I've begrudgingly accepted that fact. I've even used my inability to lose weight as a convenient excuse to be even lazier: I'll just walk one mile today because that's better than nothing, right? It's not like eating this red velvet cupcake is going to make a difference. I mean, I can't lose that much weight because I don't have the money to buy a new wardrobe. These are actual thoughts that have crossed and continue to cross my mind.

When I realized that I'd never be skinny (and that was sometime during second grade), I immediately got to work on other aspects of my personality. I read a ton, started piano lessons, and refined my sense of humor and quick wit. Surely being strong in these areas would compensate for the number on the scale and my inability to fit in small roller coasters!

It didn't take more than one elementary school bully and the lack of attention from guys in middle school to realize I was wrong. You mean, you aren't attracted to my ability to spell?! But I can explain the metaphors in The Great Gatsby (aka let you copy my homework)! Sure, I'm not a cheerleader, but I actually know the hand signals used by referees to indicate which penalty you just received!

And though my weight and the embarrassing scolding sessions from my pediatrician served as the source of many childhood tears, I gradually came to accept my lot in life.  My very large lot.

In fact, I've even sort of found ways to embrace my slightly-more-than-chubby figure. Sure, my thighs are huge, but look at that butt! I can pinch roughly seven inches around my waist, but my boobs sure do look awesome when properly hoisted. I'm fat, so I certainly don't need to spend any money on summer dresses, pencil skirts, or ten different colored bathing suits. I'm perfectly fine with my closet of graphic t-shirts, jeans, and cardigans, thank you very much.

But when I step on the scale at the doctor's office and it tells me I've put on 19 pounds in a shorter amount of time than it took for me to finish Insurgent (in my defense, that series is truly horrible), I know something has to change. It can't be healthy to gain almost one-seventh of my boyfriend in three months. Side note: This is how I've been gauging weight since fall of 2012.

I know I'm not going to lose 100 pounds, but I can certainly lose 20, right? So, I've made it my goal to go from whale-sized Brittany to the familiar porpoise-sized Brittany that I've come to know, love, and accept. How do I plan to accomplish this? Lots and lots of time on the treadmill.

That is a human being. The same species as me!

So, in honor of the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show last night (low self-esteem for the win!), I will now share with you the thoughts that crossed my mind while on the treadmill last night:

- There is only one other person in here, so it's probably okay if I pick my wedgie.

- What should I eat for dinner tonight?

- Is he seriously running at 9.5 speed? Treadmills go that fast? Get out of here with that Usain Bolt stuff.

- Okay, I've burned off exactly one can of Dr. Pepper.

- Oh, no. Are belts of treadmills slippery? Because I just spilled at least a mouthful of water on this one.

- One more mile and then you can sit on the couch and watch Ellen.

- As Usain Bolt moves onto the weight lifting portion of his workout Please don't drop the weights on the rack so loudly. My heart is already strained enough as it is.

- No, but seriously, what's for dinner?