I am twenty frigging eight years old, and about 4 years ago, I lost my mutant metabolism. The one that allowed me to eat like a construction worker after 8 hours of backbreaking work in the summer without gaining a pound, I just, lost it. Now I am saddled with extra poundage, because I didn’t, and still haven’t adjusted my appetite to the slowing pace of my body, telling me to cool it if I still want to be able to fit into all the dresses my mom made me in the past 7 years. I love food. It makes my day. When I’m stressed, it’s what I turn to for comfort, because food I can predict. I know how it works. If I can’t go out and find a meal that will make all the craptastic day go away, I am bound to be able to make it. I spend my weekdays planning the meals I’m going to experience on the weekend. I cook for people when I’m particularly frustrated. In a way, it helps me take out the annoyances and put it somewhere productive. That instead of bawling or ranting, I can create something that actually helps the universe, or in my case, usually the people I’m with.

But what does this mean for me? Well, the comments on how much weight I’ve gained, or the effect that it’s had on my body isn’t a walk in the park. Sometimes it can really get annoying when you try on stuff that were loose that are now pretty snug. Having to buy clothes in a bigger size just because you just can’t button that top button anymore. In my relationship, I’ve been lucky to have someone that just wants me to be happy. In whatever shape or form, he says. No pressure on losing the pounds I’ve invariably put on since I’ve rediscovered my love for going out (will expound on that in a future post). No passive aggressive comments on working out. Just a good, supportive environment where he encourages me to go for what I want, and this includes what I want for me, and what I see in the mirror.

Yet I do see what a couch potato existence and no control of portions can do to someone’s body. My family has gone through gallbladder stone removals (four people in one year). Diabetes plagues my mother’s side of the family. Cholesterol levels are shooting up the roof. My grandmother, who I love to pieces, takes about 8 different maintenance meds a day, costing upwards of P250 because of our lifestyle.

I don’t want that for my future. I’m scared of having to watch my sugar intake or go into diabetic shock. I don’t want a heart attack when I’m 40.

Don’t get me wrong, I love food, and I will continue to still love it, but I will make better choices. Maybe not eat that third plate of food just because there’s still some left on the table. Drink less soda. Choose the food that is worth it. Because I’m not a kid anymore. And because I want to be able to be able to have that choice in the next 50 years.

I am also trying to start a routine of being more active. Seeing what I want to get into. Make sure that the equipment I have at home is used. It’s a little more challenging, with what I was diagnosed with my knees, but that just makes it more worth it. It will help me not do whatever I want halfway, and try different things to see what fits. So if you’re enjoying your workout, sport, or anything that gets you up and active, please let me know and let me join you, because I am curious.

I am not giving up on myself, and neither should you.