At its core, weight loss is aesthetic. My weight doesn’t tell you what I eat, how much I exercise, how strong I am. It doesn’t tell you what my T-cell count is, or my bone density, or how healthy I feel. It doesn’t tell you if I’m thinner than I was before, or fatter. It doesn’t tell you how I feel about myself, or what I’ve learned, or how I’ve changed. Judging someone by the size of their body is strictly visual, and it flattens a whole, beautiful, complex body and an unknown, extraordinary person.
So, you’re faced with a charged choice: do you chase the perfection that won’t come? Or do you give up altogether? After all, there is no room for better, no room for nuance, no room for you. There is no in between. Walk the high wire of weight loss, making sure every calorie is accounted for, or freefall to the concrete below.
…ern lectures, gym recommendations, names of surgeons — an avalanche of advice I was already taking. Talking about diet and exercise, my favorite vegetables and personal bests, were all shorthand to preempt the inevitable. I know I’m fat, but I’m spending every waking moment to change that. I hope you won’t write me off completely.