Pig-ture This

I received a Christmas card from one of my oldest friends who lives in Oregon. I've known her since we were both pregnant with our daughters, ummm... that'd be about 38 years.

We visited her in St. Helens last summer when I went out there to teach my workshop. I've been out several times over the last 30 years and each time we take the obligatory photo of two friends standing next to each other, arms wrapped around each others shoulders.

She enclosed a copy of this year's snapshot in her Christmas card, and I am totally appalled at my fatness. Not that I am not reminded of it every single day when I step on the scale. But looking at a picture is always a harder closer look at reality.

On my refrigerator I have an old photo of us from when I was there about 17 years ago, and I thought I was fat then. But, baby, believe me, I had not yet seen fat. Today I would give a gajillion dollars just to be the 'fat' I was then.

Of course, that picture did not stop me from eating like a piggy for the holidays.

But now it's time to do something. Even with a bum knee, I have to find a way to exercise. And I have to start eating right. This is killing me.

I spent all day yesterday looking for a gym that will meet my needs, and I may have to rethink having the fat man dip my ice cream.

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