Extra Fries and Exercise

What if I told you, you didn’t have to be a size 8 to be happy?

I know, mic drop right?

What if I told you happiness couldn’t be found in a number?*

*unless that number was 2-4-1 on your favourite patisserie snack in M&S

I witnessed the power a number can have over some people a few evenings previous; when, asking a friend if she wanted to join me and my other half for an impromptu pizza date, I was met with the reply of:

“No thanks babes, I’m almost at a comfortable size 8.”

I was shocked, and even more than shocked, I was sad. If your life is getting postponed until the day you can snuggle into a dress size you deem more worthy because you think it’s going to make you happy  – I’m sorry to tell you, you are frightfully mistaken.

Ask anyone battling an incurable disease, a young girl stuck in hospital, a well-lived elderly living out their last days in bed, NONE of them will be thinking of the day they managed to hit 8.8 stone on the scale, or be fondly reminiscing about the time they could zip up their size 8 jeans with ease – not if either of the previous were a battle of sacrifice of a family roast, mimosas on a friend’s birthday or a naughty impromptu Ben & Jerry’s in your car, (the latter being one of my favourite evenings spent with fellow food fan, Chloe Pringle).

These people long to LIVE, a privilege we forget won’t be around forever.

I was discussing this topic with my beautiful friend Christy one evening over a G&T. She had met me after a shopping trip and had bought a pair of beautifully supple, carnation coloured trousers which I admired with love-heart eyes. Taking a glug of her drink, she freely exclaimed; “I’ve accepted I can’t be a size 8 anymore, it just doesn’t work for me. My bum and thighs are happiest in a size 12 and that’s just how it is.”

And that’s just how it was. Simple.

After a few more laughs, we downed our drinks and were met by her handsome fiancé who whisked her away for a meal.

But Christy was right, surely so long as we look comfortable on the outside – who care’s what the label says on the inside?

We interrupt this blog post to bring you this important message : NO ONE CARES.

So long as you’re healthy and happy, no one is bothered if the label in your pants says size 10 or size 16; no one’s gonna check, and you can sure as heck be positive that the general public is more concerned with the management of their own waistband rather than worrying about yours.

If I’m ever in dangerous proximity of having a wobble, or my brain tries to tangle the wires in my head to make me feel those desperately awful hungry thoughts again, I think fondly of the following phrase:

“Fuck it, it tastes good and I like it.”

These words were spoken by my other half’s dad, as we sat around a cheeseboard mid-quiz after a glorious Saturday consisting solely of laughing, day-drinking and eating.

The topic of conversation briefly sat upon the subject of weight loss and dieting before quickly transferring back to which cracker sits best with brie and who played William Roach’s third wife in Coronation Street.

After the girls firmly put the boys in their place after lightning round my mind decided to revisit this statement.

If your biggest problem in life is the fact that your jeans feel a little tighter when you sneeze, then I urge you to count yourself lucky. Of course, we’re all inclined to have a moan every now and again; about the size of our arse, how maybe it’s a little harder to do up our trousers on a Monday or maybe you just discovered that your arm has an extended jiggle 2 seconds after you stopped clapping.

Regardless; these niggles are part and parcel of life, that jiggle in your arm, that extra layer of love over your abs and that extra roundness of your butt were created when you were busy creating memories with your pals. It sure as heck wasn’t made lying on your bed, missing out on yet another occasion as you wait to become “skinny”, it was made when you were out living and that’s what makes your body yours.

I fear we’re living in an age where so-called “healthy-living” leaves people with an inability to have a life; diets, cleanses, programmes – all of which have restrictions that make life even harder to live. Is giving up everything really worth the thrill of saying; “Do you have this in a size 8?”

The thing about numbers, is that they’re infinite. There’s no end point and the limit most certainly does not exist (shoutout to my “Mean Girls” fans who got the reference). Pancakes on a Sunday morning with your family or pizza on the beach with your bestie is equal to good times recurring; but if you take food and good times out of the equation, the result is a pretty unremarkable life.

So what’s my point to this whole ramble? Don’t get so caught up on the numbers; sure they’re a great way to track whether you’re making progress if you have some unhealthy habits you’re trying to break, but please don’t be so hard on yourself.

You can’t fit in size 10 shorts forever, if you can – great! If you can’t, maybe go easy on dessert for a couple of weeks and see if they feel better, or add an extra workout to your week – if that does nothing, buy the size 12 and congratulate yourself on being the same size as Beyonce.

Life’s a journey begging to be lived, and you’ll never get a gorgeous bum by doing anything half arsed; so slather on an extra handsome portion of brie on your cracker, do some hard graft tomorrow and say; “Fuck it, it tastes good and I like it.”

Trust me, it’ll feel delicious.

5 thoughts on “Extra Fries and Exercise

  1. writingbolt says:

    This sort of gutsy talk is fine for those who can “eat whatever they want.” But, everyone has something that causes them to pause, whether it’s a fear of spiders or concern for their waistline. So, while you and I might not concern ourselves with eating/drinking much, preferring to “live it up while we can,” others might be cursed to turn into pumpkins at midnight if they eat another little cake that says Eat Me on top. Or, we might say what’s wrong with eating a pound of shrimp but then meet someone who’s allergic to shrimp and tortured by the thought they cannot enjoy what you are stuffing into your face. But, I understand your liberating outburst.


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