I will fully admit that most of my attempts at dieting have been half-hearted at best. Whether this is due to a love of chocolate or just to a lack of awareness of how bad my thighs look in a swimsuit, I'm not sure. I mean, I've seen myself in the mirror and it's not pretty. But I don't obsess about it. I just figure the pile of doughy stretchmarks that passes for my mid-section these days is what some might refer to as "taking one for the team."
And while I remain convinced that the camera adds forty pounds and not ten (because, really, that can't possibly be my double chin) this generally doesn't affect how I feel about myself. Certainly I might glance enviously at that cute embroidered skirt from Banana Republic and wish I could fit more than one leg into it again. But the skirt is, like, a size nothing, which happened long before my hips had ever heard of pregnancy. (The skirt dates back to my "skinny period" [ca. 1996-2003], which, incidentally, was the same time my metabolism had apparently entered into a pact with the devil that allowed a Snickers bar and a bag of potato chips to masquerade as a balanced meal that added as much fat to my thighs as if I had consumed a single carrot).
But, in spite of my loathing of all things diet, when it comes to losing weight the fact remains that I actually would like to be healthier. And, having had a taste of how difficult it is to navigate my normal responsibilities when carrying around a huge amount of extra weight (I spent the last two months of my pregnancy with the twins having to sit down every time I changed levels in my house), I can't imagine why in the world someone other than a size 0 would set a goal to gain more weight. Especially not someone who already weighs 600 lbs.
But, that is the heart's desire (well, maybe not the heart's desire; more like the stomach's) of a New Jersey woman whose goal is to reach 1000 lbs. in order to become the world's heaviest living woman.
I am not making this up.
Just reading about her makes me almost sure I will never want to eat fast food again. Besides being horrifically unhealthy (though she insists that she isn't unhealthy, sounding much like a toddler who declares himself to be "not tired!" as he screams himself into oblivion because a piece of lint is stuck to his shirt), it seems that if you were struggling with basic tasks like taking a shower and cooking you might reconsider the idea of adding 400 lbs. to your already elephantine girth.
But maybe it's just me. After all, her fiance declares her "full belly and generous hips" to be "very sexy." (Not sure how he can see the hips under the Jabba the Hut exterior, but that is beside the point).
And that does it. This story grossed me out enough that I think I'm ready to take the plunge.
Bring on the diet.