A love note to those pesky pounds

They remind me of an annoying younger sibling, if I had such a thing.

That excess weight, those pesky pounds, those gentle rolls.

Like siblings, they showed up at the most inopportune times.

The double chin preening for recognition in my prom pics.

The bulging tushy in my mortifying teenage bathing suit shot.

The flapping arm wings just large enough to catch air but not quite enough to take flight.

And that rolling muffin top advertising via static cling right through the shirt meant to hide it.

I hate you, pesky pounds.

But then I don’t.

I know myself.

If I’d been a pencil-thin bit of perfection, I don’t think I would have worked out all these years. 

I would have indulged in every type of yumminess that called my name. Salty cheesiness, chocolate chunkiness, and bacon – lots and lots of bacon. My outside might have looked slim and trim, but my insides would be a heart attack waiting to drop me.

But because I’ve battled excess poundage, I’ve been working out and trying to eat healthy since my teenage years.

I remember sweating to Chicago tunes in my basement, jumping rope.

I swam miles upon miles in pools, lakes and oceans.

Off and on, I did sit-ups. More off than on, but for sure I did them a few times.

I denied myself my favorite indulgences and (angrily) chomped on carrots and broccoli.

So I’d like to thank you, rolls, wings and chins, for the role (no pun intended) you’ve played in my life. You’ve made me fitter, actually. Stronger. As much as I dislike you and ultimately hope to send you packing for life, I know you’ve made me a better, healthier human in the end.

And for that, I’m sorta grateful.

Although you could have at least tucked away for the prom pic.

I mean, seriously.