An open letter to Fat Camp week 10.

Oh Fat Camp.  Poor Fat Camp.  You are so neglected.

I think there were a grand total of seven of us tonight.  Remember how the class started with 24?  And then there were seven.  It’s not your fault Fat Camp.  You are still interesting, I swear.  You are more than challenging so you still have that going for you.

It’s not you, Fat Camp.  It’s me.

Actually, let’s blame it on the weather.  Or the time change.  Or that’s it’s been 10 grueling weeks that has not seemed like 10 weeks to me and maybe that’s because of the 2.5 week hiatus for the pneumonia incident.  And, it’s not all that grueling.  It’s actually kind of fun.  But 17 people don’t think so. 

I mean, I’m not one to talk.  I did forsake you, Fat Camp, for National Pi Day.  Kind of goes against everything we stand for at Fat Camp but I was weak.  I caved to the needs of my children, my hormones and my country.  Or two out of the three.  I swear I didn’t eat the whole pie.  I had one piece that was very tasty but ugly as sin and gave the rest away.  At the moment, I am sad about this but I know that somewhere you are jumping for joy. 

Fat Camp, you have taken the pounds from me.  I promise I won’t take them back.  As Amelia is fond of saying, I pinky swear.

You must know that I kept our date tonight even though I had choice comp tickets to “Avenue Q“, courtesy of a friend I haven’t seen since…well…since I was this weight.  How’s that for full circle?  I like to say that there is something to be said for people who have known you since before you knew you.  Actually, she was in on the me knowing me part.  She was around when that became mostly solidified.  I say ‘mostly’, Fat Camp, because we know that I am not the same person she knew.  And yet, I am.  While she was off, living the dream, I was changing diapers and crying into my cocktail.  I have to wonder, Fat Camp, about that.  Again about choices.

Think about it…we never would have met if I didn’t have that Nutty Bar addiction back in Aught Eight.  That was a choice and maybe I don’t regret it.  I don’t regret you, that’s for sure.  But life is all about choices isn’t it?

This is my new shirt, Fat Camp.  Do you like it?  You didn’t say anything tonight when I wore it.  I noticed that the shirt is a little too loose on me thanks to you.  And that it causes people to look twice at me.  You and I both know that makes me feel weird to be culled from the herd like that.  When I showed somebody my shirt she said “That’s awesome!  You should wear that everywhere.”

And I said, You’re right.  Especially when it’s mostly true.  Just a little bit.

It is.  And you know it.  I like the shirt and I will keep wearing it to the gym if only because it is not playgroup appropriate.

Know what I really like about you Fat Camp and what will never ever change even if we part ways someday? (I’m not saying it’s anytime soon so don’t look at me like I just kicked your puppy.)

I really like that you have never judged me.  I am not a competitive person except when it comes to competing against myself.  I am often my worst enemy.   But you know that don’t you?  You kept me moving around so I didn’t succumb to treadmill apathy or lunge angst or abdominalphobia.  You chased me into running.  You make me want to do pushups when I go out for drinks and have one or two too many. (Why is that?  We will get to the bottom of it someday.) 

You make me question what I put into my mouth all day.  Okay, that kind of makes me cranky but I do like the result so you know best I suppose. 

But, mostly, I like who I am when I am with you.  I might want to call off our date but I never regret it when I put on my big girl bra and work myself into a sweaty frenzy.

If that’s not love then I don’t know what is.

Best Regards,

Mayor McCheese

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