What can I say. I’m fat. I don’t know how it happened, or where it came from, but it did, and I am. It’s amazing how it creeps up on you. You live in denial, make sure there are no full length mirrors in the house, comfort yourself with food, and suddenly wake up one morning to realize you more closely resemble a water buffalo than your original self.

So what do you do? Especially when you are so buried in denial that you can’t even really “see” the fat in the mirror. I mean, it’s there, you’re staring at it, but you don’t really see it. You tell yourself it’s not so bad, and you still look like you always did.

Then, you step on the scale, (one of those scales that has the little dials that go around) and the darn thing ends up right back at Zero. Yes, that’s right, that little dial went ALL the way around just to tell me in a coughing, hacking little voice that I need to get right back off again, so it can breath. I do, and the little dial swings wildly back into place.

What a place to be in. I feel lost. There’s so much information out there, how do you know which path to follow? I’ve tried every diet under the sun. I really believe that a persons weight is in direct proportion to the number of diet books on their bookshelves. The more diet books, the fatter you are. Not sure how that works either, but it seems to be true for most.

I have to laugh at myself when I find myself in a book store, buying yet another diet book, while trying to balance an ice cream cone in one hand and sign the credit slip with the other. Or when I drown myself in a bag of chips while reading a fitness magazine. Am I the only one that does that? I guess I figure if I keep reading about diet and exercise, eventually it will rub off.

 I’m still waiting…