A friend asked what I had gained during the past year of the pandemic, and my response was immediate:
“Weight, that’s what I’ve gained from Covid 19.”
And it sucks, as in slurping down food.
Certainly other emotional traumas have surfaced in the past 12 months, but more pounds draping my body seem to be the most noticeable. But who is actually noticing, since I see no one I knew 12 months ago!
When my jeans get tight, my belly swells, and I keep wearing baggier shirts, my mental state takes a dive into a pool of frustration, humiliation, discomfort, and crabby attitudes about myself.
Who cares if I look muzzled in my KN95 mask? Who gives a damn if my hair needs chopping. And who notices if my nails are chipped and broken and unpainted?
No one. But let my waist line inflate from a size 8 to double digit proportions and my world erupts with revulsion.
Fear of getting on the scales keeps me paralyzed from entering my spare bathroom where they once resided. My cleaning lady, apparently recognizing my expanding girth, has taken to hiding the weighing machine on the top shelf in my closet, knowing I haven’t climbed to those peaks in 2 years.
What happened to the girlish frame I admired just a year ago? Where is that 112 pound feline figure sleeking through life, proudly stretching and oozing confidence? Of course, that was some 40 years ago and hasn’t ever returned.
Who was she, the trim, confident lady running 6 miles a day, fearing nothing in her skimpy jogging shorts, enjoying the freedom of motion?
Gone is that magical energy she once relished and owned, replaced with a lethargic attitude of weighty decisions about which romantic movie to watch on Netflix.
Weight, I’m consumed by the mere word. See, I’m back to the topic of weight, whether in making decisions or the drama of adding pounds.
I can blame my expanding inches on many things: age, isolation, boredom, but it’s all due to Covid, and has nothing to do with my history of laziness. C-19 is being blamed for a lot of the ills of the world today, so why not add my girth gain as one of them? After all, the longer the list the more truth it takes on, or so I’ve been told.
Meanwhile, the doglets and I spend many hours sitting, sleeping, eating, sitting, sleeping, eating, and then we sit, sleep and eat some more. And I’m surprised additional pounds found their way to my body?
I wonder if the vaccine is known to cause fat cells to multiply. I could add that to my excuses for excessive eating!
that little voice 
Well I debated on clicking the ‘like’ button…because, well, I’m in the same boat, but a much larger boat. I don’t know why we do this. Boredom? We have an excuse to sit on the sofa and eat now? What is wrong with us? Nothing stopping us from getting out the door for a walk. We don’t HAVE to buy the chips or ice cream…but here i am, 8 in the a.m. with icecream on the sofa. Uh oh. I think I will just stop it. Today I go for a walk. Honest.
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i’m reminded of a saying a friend used liberally: “When you’re looking for an excuse, any will do.” That sums up my attitude about why I eat and gain and eat and gain and eat and gain! And besides, ice cream cleans my teeth first thing in the morning…helps stops morning breath. Right?
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My girth has increased mightily in most recent years – well, perhaps not mightily, but I now weigh more than I ever have in the past, and my stomach is much more prominent than it has been in the past. Of course, I’m also older than I was in the past. And perhaps a bit more sedentary. Idle hands for me result in nibbling. I can’t blame this on Covid though – because it happened pre-Covid. Most of it. I should exercise. I should walk more. I should – do lots of things I know full well I will not. So here I am – just exactly how I am.
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