I’m starting a diet and exercise regime, regime being the operative word. My maniacal trainer, in addition to putting me through a training session only a masochist would love, has now suggested a fat flush. He referred to it as a detoxifying nine day cleanse. Nine days!!!! Nine days in which not only do I have to subject myself to his tyranny, but drink shakes and vitamin laced water, deprive myself of my beloved caffeine (which I love like a junkie loves Heroin), and reward myself with “snacks” that seem suspiciously similar to doggie treats. Just when I was about to console myself with a glass of wine, I read the no alcohol restriction. Nine days!!!
Although metabolically challenged, I suffer from an even greater case of vanityitis. Never have my two unfortunate conditions been in greater conflict then when I was pregnant. I possessed hunger so extreme that I might have literally killed for a cheeseburger. My intense hunger battled my incredible fear of becoming a gelatinous glob much like Jabba the Hut.
Vanity fought the good fight but, was no match for the ravenous monster within. The little demon growing inside would channel through me demanding food now or someone was going to get hurt. Ask my friend William about my Linda Blair impression during my first pregnancy, to this day he flinches when I say I’m hungry. I fully expected my baby to be born a whopping twenty five pounds with horns sprouting from his head and holding a pitchfork.
I helplessly watched as fat settled in my body distorting my features like a funhouse mirror. Friends and family watched in horror as I turned in to Side-show Kim. Someone told me that I must be having a girl because a girl robs you of your beauty. My brother-in-law without missing a beat blurted out “You must be having twins”. I have two boys and only one girl and I was indescribably grotesque during all three pregnancies.
Near the end of my second pregnancy as my girly gait gave way to thunderous thuds. I emerged from the shower and my husband turned to me and said “Kim, you make my rocking world go round.” To this day I can’t listen to Queen’s “Fat Bottom Girl” and not think of that moment. Before you dismiss my husband as an insensitive cad, of course he was and can be, give him a break; it was really funny. If I didn’t laugh at my rotund self I would’ve cried for nine months and the year after that it took me to lose the weight.
After the little demons were born, my vanity went in to overdrive and kicked hunger’s booty. When your metabolism is non-existent, extreme dieting and exercise are a necessity. I survived Slimfast diets and the Weight Watcher point system for months at a time. Bring on the nine day fat flush I can take it. Piece of cake. Hey—that’s not a bad idea, I can get a piece in before I start.