I’ve been thinking lately about getting into better shape. It is probably the first time that I’ve given the notion serious thought since last summer. That it wasn’t on my mind was due to a lot of the personal drama that has gone down in the past year, the notion that I am pretty content with myself and am not ruled by body image issues, and the momentum I built up in my post-D-Day fit of “freedom means not giving a fuck about anything.” I’ve known that the third point on that list isn’t necessarily true for some time now, the second one is still true, and the first one is likely never going to subside to a level that I want it to, so why the change? Well, why not.
My reluctance in the past was born from the stubborn, indignant streak that I’ve got and instigated by a third party’s belief that I needed to be skinny to not be an embarrassment. And from the fact that it’s so, like, difficult.
So really, the answer is that I don’t feel compelled to do it, and that compels me to do it. This is how my mind works. Besides, I tell myself now, it will be easy to do. Just go out to eat less, stop drinking so much soda and stop snacking.
This can’t go badly, can it?
I will either apprise you of my progress, or never speak of this again.
