Fat Camp

So when I started this blog, I thought I was going to only blog about books and writing. I had a vision of talking about insider rumors, because oddly I tend to hear some juicy stuff behind the scenes. But every time I go to write about them, I think about the fact my NAME is attached to what I'm writing, so I temper what I'm saying to the point there is nothing left and I just throw my hands up in the air and say I'll try again tomorrow. It's not that I'm afraid of telling it like it is, it's just the storm that the smallest thing can create is distracting to me creatively. I got into it with a not-to-be-named big-named author a few months ago about something I would love to rant about here, but for weeks, the controversy of our argument had my creative mind in shambles. I like to laugh about the ridiculous, but I don't like to have my email box filled with people threatening me and accusing me of all kinds of nasty things. Authors are touchy.

So bear with me while I figure this whole blog thing out.

Until then, I'll tell you about Fat Camp - aka Weight Watchers.

Insurance companies look at authors as a high risk group. You'll notice that you'll get better health insurance rates by yourself than you can going in with a group of authors. Why? Well, we lead a HUGELY sedentary lifestyle. I mean, we are sitting on our ever-widening buttocks eight hours a day. How many email loops have you been a part of where everyone complains about back problems out the wazoo?? And we have issues with the over-eating of chocolate and a non-existent exercise regimen.

But we're also public figures who need to, in my opinion, project a public presence that is together and hip. You don't see other types of artists walking around in sweatpants and horribly un-matching shirts, do you? Painters, sculptors, poets, and the like tend to dress in funky, off-beat, interesting ways. How we dress is a reflection of who we want people to believe we are.

Yet even as I realized this, I looked down and realized I was thirty pounds over weight and getting heavier by the moment. My back hurt and I'd stopped exercising. Every rejection that came in the mail was an excuse to stuff myself full of chocolate. I could barely fit into my sweatpants and horribly un-matching shirt.

I was miserable.

So I embarked on a quest to get myself into reasonable shape and fit back into my pre-writing clothes.

It took me almost three years to lose thirty pounds, but I did it. I'm not exactly someone who has a lot of self control. Now I'm back to my "gosh, if I just weighted 10 or 15 pounds less, I'd feel great" stage, which is where I've been all my pre-writing life. Welcome home!

When I went in a few months ago to have my back x-rayed, the technician said, "Well, I'm not sure what this is going to show them. You're not overweight and you haven't been in an accident, so this shouldn't show any problems. You need an MRI for that." Wow - I thought. He just said I wasn't overweight. It was a nice feeling.

Anyway, so I went to Fat Camp today for my monthly weigh-in. Even though I made goal weight back in March, I still weigh every month. I've made peace with the fact that I'm one of those people who just has to keep my eyes always on my weight or it will creep up and bite me on the ass. Literally.

Now I just have to figure out how to match these t-shirts to my sweatpants and I'm set. Call me sloppy-chick.