For as long as I can remember, I’ve struggled to embrace my body.
In High School, I wasn’t one of the ‘skinny ones’. The same applied in college, especially after the introduction of ‘4th Meal’ — which I pegged as pure genius at the time…right up there with ‘Kegs & Eggs.’
When I moved to New York at 22, I had a whole new host of caloric temptations provoking the impressionable senses.
And I also had New York Sports Clubs (NYSC), the pre-boutique fitness era of gym frenzy to devote an hour a day to. I would claim an elliptical and become entranced for the next 45-60 minutes.
And I wouldn’t lose weight.
I’d try again the next week. And the next. And next.
For years I couldn’t seem to crack the code. I started to believe I was the size I was, and so be it. After all, being overweight was totally ‘in my genetics.’
But what I really was?
Asleep. Disillusioned. Out of touch.