Today I went shopping. I hate shopping, and especially for clothes. Partly it's the guilt that overwhelms me. Guilt that because I have poor control of my food choices and my drive to exercise is weak, I am somehow not a good person. Okay, gross overstatement, but every heavy woman knows about what I write. It is so hard to be a fit American. We have french fries available to us every 20 meters or so, mochas at every corner, and fantastically comfortable furniture begging to be sat upon, layed in, or lounged across. I do love exercising. I used to be a weightlifter. So what's the problem? As with all medical students - I hate doing anything halfway. So - why exercise for only an hour? I want a three-hour-a-day body-busting routine. 60 pounds ago and a lot more free time - I had that. It's depressing to go run for 30 minutes and lift a few weights.
I need to get over it. Being a fat doctor just doesn't look too good. Be honest - you'd trust a fit doctor over a fat one. I could never look a patient in the eye when I had to tell them to lose weight. It's awful! I need accountability! I need time!
Fear not - I will not make this a New Year's resolution. That's just bad luck. Mope. That is what I will do. Then maybe I'll find the strength to take the cliched bull by the horns and treadmill by the rails. . .
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