It’s settled itself over my hips, filled my cheeks and surrounded my belly like a tire.
A reminder that my focus has shifted as I’ve spent all of my time doing more pressing things. Spending twelve hours at a time studying, broken only by vending machine runs where I nourish myself with Cheeto’s and 25-cent cups of coffee.
I was successful last year, shedding 20 of the 30 pounds I’ve been fighting with for the past eight years of my life.
Looking back, it was easier than I thought it could ever be. In the day-to-day though, it was a job. Packing two meals a day in a lunch box that I could eat on campus instead of the goods found in the food court, the daily workout regimen: 45 minutes on the Stairmaster followed by lunges and planks and crunches until my limbs were burning and shaking, a 1200-calorie diet, with one 1500-calorie cheat day and the dreaded weekly weigh in.
I did it though, one day-- and one pound-- at a time. My satisfaction came when my pants, once too tight, began to sag and my shirts became loose, no longer hugging my curves. I wore those clothes too long. Unbothered by looking sloppy, I was savoring my accomplishment.
But, here it is again. Settled over my hips, filling my cheeks and surrounding my belly.
I’ve yet to step on the scale, unready for the whirlwind it will spin my mind into. I don’t need a number to know that it’s here. That it’s time again to fight.
And one day I hope this battle will end. That I will just be, comfortably. But until then, here I go again.
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