Proverbs 31 promises that “Charm is deceitful, beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord she shall be praised.”
It’s not a matter of whether I agree with this: I know it to be true. It doesn’t stop me from wanting to be beautiful. But I don’t want it badly enough.
Underneath my pillowy belly and arms is a lean, strong woman. I’m already pretty strong, considering. While in delivery I appeared Sunny-side up. The doctor, in his foolishness, decided to turn me around. He caused semi-permanent nerve damage and minimal loss of sensation on my left side. I was fed through a tube. I was in an incubator. The doctor told my parents that I was “probably retarded.”
It didn’t turn out that way, but career as a professional athlete was not to be. I was exempt from state fitness exams. I was picked last for every sport. I saw a chiropractor.
Then I met the future Mr. Malakoa. He filled me in on things I could do for the arthritis. He challenged me to do push-ups, pull-ups and (Turkish) get-ups. I have gotten so I’m a lot stronger than you are, average out of shape American. I’m exercising a whole lot and am getting pretty strong. I can do things now that I couldn’t have done six months ago.
Problem is, I’m still over-weight/almost obese. Mr. M has a weight vest that adds twenty pounds and it’s definitely oppressive. I wear at least that every day, mostly in the form of belly fat. I jiggle while I walk and have trouble finding jeans that go over my thighs. Last I checked I was 183 lbs. That’s a lot.
I have tried to figure out how I get this way. I’m not a real yo-yo dieter because I never diet more than three days. I don’t have a chance to lose weight to gain it back.
Why is this so? I could be much healthier, look fantastic and feel liberated. I’m just not there yet. Something has to happen, or I just have to make up my mind that this is the right thing to do. Problem is there is faulty wiring between my brain and the hands that feed the belly. I’d rather have tootsie rolls than sleek, beautiful arms. Cake, Cracker Jacks, Chips, they’re all more appealing to me than being two sizes smaller.
What is it going to take to change my mind? I’m not quite vain enough to rely on beauty as my goal. I just had a bunch of blood tests and my cholesterol is a bit high, but the treatment is exercise and I already exercise.
Do I need a scare? A wedding? A funeral? Not sure. What is it going to take?!?!!