Tuesday, June 21, 2005

Fat people make me feel good

As anyone who knows me will tell you, I’ve always been a bit porky about the middle. Mrs Gecko is, by all accounts, sick and tired of hearing me bleat on about this fact. The truth is, I do obsess about it. I‘ve tried lots of sometimes crackpot schemes to shift the blubber, but it always came back.

Anyway, it’s been going on like that for ages, and as anyone who podgy will testify, fat is insidious. It creeps up on you, layering you with more and more lard in a gentle, almost loving way.

Until that day you find your old favourite, long lost t-shirt and enthusiastically try put it on.

To discover that the bottom half doesn’t reach your belt anymore, leaving you looking like one the wobbly Jordan wannabes that totter around Bromley on a Friday night (you know, the young girls who bare their midriffs, blissfully unaware that the sight of their lumpy fat rolls is, in actual fact, not at all sexy).

My new years resolution for 2005 (yes, I still make those, and I’ve kept the last 3), which we actually started in November 2004, was to shift the fat.
To date I’ve jettisoned 13 kg’s of potential soap. That’s about 24 lbs for you old fashioned types.

Having said that, the last couple of months have been tough; the diet came off the rails and I’m struggling to get back on, but I think I’m winning. I’ve not gained any back, but I haven’t lost any since April—I have a few good days, and then find myself accidentally stuffing my face with Jaffa cakes.

I was thinking about this strange duality while I was having my dessert last night. As I slurped down the last mouthful of creamy, chocolatey yumminess I decided that this was a good point to draw a line under the sorry attempt at weight loss that has marked the last 3 months. A high note to end on.

I started this morning with a spring in my step (possibly due to the Rocket Fuel) and a reborn sense of purpose.

Anyway, on my way from the train station I have to walk past a Burger King, and there, as if sent by the god of motivation (the same chap who inspired Eye of the Tiger), sat a couple of fatties in all their belt-bursting glory.
Not just chubby, but fat. Obese. Big as in I-have-my-own-postcode-big.

And what were they doing? Mrs Fatsack was chatting to someone on her cellphone whilst daintily nibbling on a fistful of fries, while Mr Fatsack was people watching, with a coke in one meaty paw and a cheeseburger in the other.


And you know what? It made me feel good. Superior. Uplifted. And more determined than ever to get rid of my spare tyre- I need to lose another 10kg’s to get to my goal weight.
During lunch I’m going to pop down to the local supermarket and pack out 10x 1kg tubs of butter and have a good, long look at my enemy.

I don’t feel pity for fatties- at the end of the day the only hand lifting those fries to your face is your own. The only one making you sit there and watch Oprah is you. The only one making excuses is you.
Posted by Mark :: 11:50 :: 0 Comments:

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