Learning that obesity, apart from its comorbidities, contributes the risk of becoming gravely ill or dying from Covid-19 was terrifying.
I feel deep regret.
I know so much about myself — about weight loss, metabolism, diabetes, PCOS, food addiction, Overeaters Anonymous, bright line eating, the microbiome, intermittent fasting, ketosis,plant-based eating, inflammation and every mainstream and other-than-mainstream approach to wellness and, specifically, weight loss.
I’m so smart.
And yet I’m so fat.
I have all the extra risks for heart disease, cancer and a laundry list of horribles that could compromise my health and rob me of the long full life I hope for. And now I know this deadly virus could kill me in only a matter of days if it were to invade my body.
I make a living helping people free themselves from intractable thinking patterns that keep them stuck. And yet my problem, the central problem of my life, even after the ups and downs of marriage, children, health, family drama, career change, is still the size of my ass. And now where I would plot today’s weight on the actuarial height and weight table.
How is it possible that I’m obese?
I can still fit quite nicely into my Anthroplogie tunics and extra large Free People leggings.
The consequences of being this weight are much more than cosmetic.
Might this virus kill me?
If I were to show up in an emergency room would I be categorized as one not worth saving because my extra flesh reduces my chances of survival?
I have seen images of Covid-19 patients lying prone and unconscious in hospital beds. Would the weight of my breasts or belly put extra pressure on my heart and lungs? Would it make it more difficult for well-meaning nurses or doctors to tend to my physical needs? Is my overworked body inflamed and vulnerable to the dreaded cytokine storm?
Yes, these are what-ifs. I certainly know better than to indulge in these scary hypotheticals.
But I would not be honest if I did not acknowledge my regret.
Losing weight is suddenly an emergency.
And yet I’ve continued to eat to excess, creating a more zaftig curve between the waistband and leg band of my underpants and hurting my health, my happiness and my chances of survival.
So here I am again. At my highest weight.
And confronting the truth that I know better, and yet I cannot stop.
I’ve surrendered so much. I already eat food that it healthful. I grew up a vegetarian. My father ran marathons. I don’t even drink when all the other moms have boozy cocktail hours on their driveways as the kids race around on bikes and scooters. But I wake up each morning with a cup of half and half and coffee before I even brush my teeth. My habits are atrocious.
There is no change of scenery. Day in and day out. Zoom school. No help in the house. An old fashioned kind of husband who sees the parenting and housekeeping as the province of the fairer sex (although he would certainly take issue with this description). It’s a Groundhog Day of lessons and laundry punctuated by coffees swirled with half-and-half and an evening of fog eating — either fistfuls of kids snacks (organic beef jerky and salt-and-vinegar potato chips) or Chinese takeout which I inhale at the end of the day, when I finally sit down to feed myself. The house comes first. The kids come first. Picking up dog poop in the backyard comes first. Living hurts. I’m lost and afraid. So I desperately seek the momentary pleasure of food and then feel the pain and regret of being overfull and overweight.
And it all starts again in the morning with more high fat dairy in my coffee. I’m addicted to both substances — I am certain of that.
Here I am.
A life coach. A lawyer. A mother. A hiker. A lover. A reader. A nature lover.
And clinically obese.
I say I would do anything for my children.
And yet, I’m afraid, I cannot stop eating.
There’s no quick cure.
But I’m determined.
To fix this for good.
I’m using my blog to show you each day how I’m coping, how I’m changing.
Watch me as I battle food addiction.
I’m tracking my food and exercise and, most importantly, my thoughts on this blog each day.
I’m fighting fat.
I’m fighting addiction.
I’m fighting for my life.
© Liora Powers