Sometimes I think I'm in denial regarding how fat I really am. Like, losing 80 pounds has given me some sort of fat-pass, and that I now get to wear a label other than that. Then I'm reminded on how wrong I am.
Yesterday after church and breakfast, I was changing to get ready to go to a parade and a waterski show. As I walked into the family room, my girlfriend's son came up to me. "You're fat," he said.
"I know," I replied quickly, feeling the heat of embarassment as my face lit up bright red.
"WHAAAAT?!?" his aunt called from the other room.
"He's fat," came the reply.
I walked upstairs and sat on the couch. Moments later, my girlfriend came over, kneeled low next to me and said, "I think you should grab a sturdier lawn chair. I don't think these collapsible fabric ones will hold you."
"Okay," I said, the warmth on my face returning.
I guess I'd been feeling so good this past month that I forgot, but yesterday served as a reminder that despite the efforts of the past year, I'm not thin. I'm not trim. I'm not good-looking. I'm not chubby. I'm not husky. I'm not overweight. I am fat. And despite how I may see myself, this is how the world sees me.
I won't forget again.