The weighing scales in my kitchen is in easy view, even from one seat in the living room, so this had to on the sly. I snuck a jelly snake out of the bag lying on the counter, placed it carefully and silently on the tray and noted its 8g of weight. A quick look at the back of the bag and some stealthy calculations and success: 14 calories a snake. I had already had 3 and that was quite enough.
There is something consuming and unrelenting about calorie counting. What was once a vague note of your daily intake soon becomes a mission in accuracy and a never ending game of find the deficit. Well, for me it was anyway. And for what? Sculpted biceps, long lean legs and the elusive flat stomach?
One of the first things I learned in recovery was that no matter how thin I became (and I was thin) I was still me. Admittedly, an undernourished, cranky and bony me, but me nonetheless, and I was just going to have to deal with that. So what is me?
Even with XXlbs of a weight difference, I still have muscles on my arms, skinny calves and a relatively small waist. I still have big boobs, big eyes, big hair. Maybe I am a little larger, but I essentially look the same. I could change my size but not my shape.
So why become so invested in this societal notion that restriction, over exercise, thinness will make your life magically better? Of course, eat well, run, skip, play, be healthy! But a sub-18 BMI will not make your bills smaller, your classes easier, your life more enjoyable. Because honestly, whats enjoyable about secretly weighing snakes? Nothing