“Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.”
Kate Moss said this a few years ago. She pissed off a lot of people.
Sorry folks, but I’m siding with her on this one.
There are very few things in the world that feel better than skinny. And those few things are not food-related.
I should know. Because, for my entire life, I’ve been thin.
I’ve wanted to write about this for a while. But I didn’t because I was afraid of being hated. And, to avoid it, I momentarily considered writing this post as a weight loss story.
Six years ago, I weighed 175 pounds. I shed 40 pounds after a break-up. And, with the exception of minor gains and losses over the years, I’ve kept it off.
But that angle would have been deceiving.
Even though the numbers are true, I was never fat or even chubby. When I was at my “heaviest” someone told me I looked like a marathon runner. And I didn’t try to lose weight. I just threw my life into a crisis and lost my appetite.
But had I written this post as “the girl who lost weight” rather than “that skinny bitch who never gains a pound” I could back Moss’s statement full-force without any consequence.
The girl with the weight loss would be cheered when describing how fantastic it feels to throw on a dress, look in the mirror, and love how it looks.
When I write that, however, I’m a jerk.
So I guess I’ll be a jerk and spill it all.
I love being thin. LOVE it.
When I see people I haven’t run into in ten years, I never have to worry about that person judging me for my weight. If anything, I’m assured that they are marveling at my skinny arms.
When I’m feeling self-conscious about my crummy little car or my less-than-50k-per-year career or my bad manners, I always take comfort in knowing that I’ve been successful at something. And it happens to be the something that so many people can’t seem to manage.
I know Lou loves being with a thin woman. Mostly because I know I look great and he rarely has to manage a self-esteem melt-down.
I enjoy shopping for bikinis.
If I’m hungry and I want to chow down on a good meal, I fucking go for it. And I don’t care what other people think of me as I do it. Why not? Because I’m thinner than they are.
And, yes, I throw on a dress, look in the mirror, and love how it looks. I even twirl and dance and pose. This happens frequently.
It feels great.
Now, here’s the part where someone who hates me for being thin tells me that I don’t understand how tough it is because I’m tall and I have a kick-butt metabolism and blah blah blah.
It’s true. I don’t understand how tough it is to lose weight.
But, I do understand how tough it is to stay thin.
I don’t eat meat. In fact, I don’t eat much, to be honest.
Breakfast is coffee and a Luna bar. Lunch is a handful of cherry tomatoes, fat free cottage cheese, and crackers. I eat a big meal for dinner, but it’s vegetarian so I don’t have to sweat the portion.
When someone in the office brings in donuts, cake, or cookies, I don’t eat them.
I never, ever order dessert. Ever.
Oh, and I also hike.
Sure, feeling hungry from time to time is uncomfortable (and if it gets to the place where it hurts, I drink a Low Sodium V8 as a snack). I’m not going to lie, there are times on the trail where I want to jump off the cliff just to end the pain of cardio.
And, dammit, I miss bacon.
But, then I think about twirling in the mirror.
There’s just not enough bacon in the world that will make me give that up.
Caveat: At the risk of sounding insensitive to people who actually have medical problems or terrible metabolisms…I’m talking about the people who gain weight even though they eat healthy and work out…my heart goes out to you, it really does. That’s just a shit gig.