It’s in the divine plan. I don’t know why, but I’ve decided that this is the only possible explanation for the infinite number of hindrances that constantly arise between me and physical perfection.
Exhibit A – My attempts to go to the gym. Now. I quite like the gym. I feel good and mostly have fun when I go. But I have a big problem with getting there. Walking my bum through that door is a herculean challenge. So when I actually make it there and find they have canceled my class, it is demotivating. This has happened to me twice in recent days. And then, yesterday, I went to this new gym I have decided to sign up for. (It looks awesome by the way.) I was excited and mentally prepared. I had my stuff and was ready to sign and everything. I got there and the guy says it’s cash only. Who, in this day and age, works on a cash-only basis? It’s a pre-pay for the whole year, so I did not have this cash on me. So now I have to go back today. I’m going to, but I seriously considered going to the library instead.
Exhibit B – Food that makes you fat/gives you heart disease and/or diabetes: I love it all. Bread, pasta, cheese, baked goods, things with sugar, things with butter, things with salt. Almond croissants. (Most perfect combination of ingredients in existence.) All so very, very good. All to be avoided like the plague. And sure, veggies are good too. But you try to tell me that broccoli isn’t better with butter or cheese sauce on it and I will call you a dirty liar.
Exhibit C – I suck at all sports. Across the board. You cannot name a sport that I do not suck at. As an extremely competitive person, I find this is endlessly frustrating.
Exhibit D – I was born without willpower. Although, I read a thing a while ago that said there isn’t really such a thing as willpower anyway. It’s all just fleeting bravado. Which takes me back to Exhibits A and B. I might get to the gym one day, but if it’s closed, showing up another day is going to be hard. I might be able to not buy bread at the supermarket, but if you put some on my table, I will cave.
Despite these impediments, I’ll continue to wage my ongoing battle against this particular divine plan. I guess that sort of battle is probably some kind of sin. Ah well, here’s hoping it’s the venal kind.
(PS. This post is meant to be light. Just to be clear, I am not fatist. If you are fat and you are happy with that, that’s awesome. I also do not hate my body, although I have my moments, which I think are inevitable in the world I am part of. It is one of the reasons that I don’t watch TV or read magazines about celebrities – I think these things damage people’s (and by people, I mean my own) self-worth by idealizing unrealistic role models and then cruelly cutting them down when they are less than perfect. If you can honestly sit there and judge or think less of Jennifer Aniston or someone for having a millimeter of cellulite on her thigh or a wrinkle on her forehead, then I can only imagine what awful things you think about yourself. I also think the messages being sent by these media create a scale of human value based on criteria that have nothing to do with the kind of person you are, and I think that’s messed up. My quest for “physical perfection” is tongue in cheek. Yes, I’d like to be fitter and healthier and stronger. I’d like to look really good in my clothes and have a body that will take me kindly into old age. Toward this aim, I have always struggled against laziness and a taste for yummy food, but I don’t let it control my life because that kind of defeats the purpose.)