Here’s the thing. I have all the respect in the world for my fellow weight-strugglers, but when it comes to losing weight, there’s really a basic equation that everyone knows you need to follow!
So I’m in the gym this morning and my gorgeous friend starts up about how she’s put on 8kgs in the past month and starts on a self-hate rampage that, personally, I don’t need any lessons in giving. I zone out for a little bit, watching the hot guy on the cross trainer spring-step his way to nowhere, only to zone back in just to hear “…all that pizza I ate last night!”.
“We’re talking proper pizza here yeah? Not that raw, organic, not-really-pizza stuff? Gluten-filled dough, with white flour and cheese and meat and everything?”
“I know!” she cried, the shame written all over her face.
Calories, sugars, fat grams, carbs whatever you want to measure, have to be burned or used by some form of physical exercise.
You expend a certain amount of energy per day just doing your everyday stuff like breathing, walking, functioning as a human etc, but if you put more into your body than you are using, it hangs around on your body as fat!
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The Truth On Why You’re Fat
People get fat because they eat crap and don’t exercise enough to burn off those calories.
Simple as that.
I understand that some medical issues can make people put on weight and that it can be almost impossible for these people to get it off, but I’m talking about the majority here.
The people who bitch and complain about the extra 10kgs they can’t shift, all the while shovelling down Cadbury cooking chocolate chips (coz they are really just like normal chocolate – don’t buy them!) whilst watching late-night TV or bypassing weight Macweightcas on the way home from kids sports at 6pm and stealing ¾ of your kids’ chips.
You’re not going to lose weight if you eat truckloads of crap.
Especially after you turn 30.
It’s a well-documented fact that as your age goes up, your metabolic rate goes down.
I remember turning 30 and my arse literally showing me within weeks “Sorry love, you can’t eat that shit no more!” with my jeans too tight and my underarm having an 5-second aftershock when my hand had stopped waving.
The problem is that the stuff that is bad for us is not necessarily yummier, but it’s usually more convenient and supposedly cheaper. But here’s a tip – you are not a horse, so don’t eat out of a bag, and your body is not a chemical waste disposal unit, so it’s best not to pump it full of the shitstorm of numbers and unpronounceable names found in ready-to-eat, mass-produced foods.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m no saint when it comes to ‘Eating right’ bandwagon.
I hide my chocolate in the empty organic muesli bar box, bought once when I had a few extra dollars and the box kept for the purpose of deterring hubby and kids from looking in there for my stash. I usually stay up late for the sole purpose of eating the chocolate without having to share.
I go overboard when I catch up with the girls for drinks and nibbles; I even have a pair of jeans one size too big precisely for these get-togethers. I’ll bake a cake and promise myself I’ll be ‘good’, but by the time I’ve licked my fingers, the bowl, the wooden spoon and eat all the offcuts, I might as well have eaten three pieces. But I’m not in denial that this is why my butt still jiggles and I can’t seem to get rid of that flabby bit that spills out of the top of my bra under my shoulder blades.
I don’t want to live on lettuce and Diet Coke, nor do I want to make my favourite caramel slice with raw dried fruit, copious amounts of coconut oil and a dark substance resembling chocolate made from a bean.
Let’s face it, you’ve probably got a little bit of extra ‘pudding’ because you’ve been eating a few too many actual puddings. And that’s cool.
Everyone knows what they need to do to get the weight off so everyone makes their own choices when it comes to how you go about it.
This is not about fat-shaming, it’s about taking responsibility.
Go ahead and eat that second cupcake (or hell just lick the icing off it and give the soggy cake bit to your toddler, or vice versa) or dig into that gourmet carb-loaded degustation dinner you posted pictures of on Facebook, just don’t come whinging to me, or anyone else, when you suffer the bloated food guilts and you can’t get your pants over your thighs.