‹ Prequel: Ana
Sequel: Relearning Laura ›
The "You're Not Fat" Campaign
It's Fun To Stay At The YMCA
When I get home from school, I go up to my room and slide out of my jeans. My thighs have gotten even bigger, which I didn't think was possible. I send my mom a text saying that I'm going to the Y, then pull on a pair of running shorts and a baggy t-shirt. I pull my hair back and sigh at my reflection. I am so fat. I am so ugly.
I run at full speed to the Y, which is seven blocks away from my house. I slow to a walk as I enter the lobby and hand my card to the woman at the desk. She smiles at me and I hurry through the halls to the locker room. Throw my hoodie into a locker, change my shoes. Speed-walk up the stairs to the workout room. Claim an elliptical and press Weight Loss, then Fat Burn. Pump my legs up and down, going fast at first. The resistance changes and I slow down minutely. My eyes are glued to the fat black numbers, counting up the calories that I have burned.
15.
I push myself harder, and I can feel myself starting to sweat. I'm less cold than I was before. But I'm still cold.
27.
That number is so small. I begin to count in my head. Only 23 - no, 22 now that the little black number is 28- more calories until I hit fifty. Only 62 - no, 61 now that the little black number is 29 - more calories until I hit ninety, and burn off the Granny Smith apple I ate earlier.
Sweat drips down my back and slides across the rolls of fat on my sides. I am disgusting.
I am disgusting. I am disgusting.
It turns into a mantra, a sick mantra to keep me moving, even though my legs feel weaker with every calorie burned.
35.
I am disgusting. I am disgusting. I am disgusting. I am fat and ugly and disgusting and I need to get rid of all the fat on my body and then I will deserve Rick and I will be thinner than my skinnyskinny best friend.
49.
It's only been five minutes and I've burned 50 calories already. This is good.
My mind goes blank and I run and run and run. My legs are burning and my chest is heaving. Every breath is difficult.
72.
I am losing track of how long I've been running. The only real thing is the little black calorie number going up and up and up.
89.
I am one calorie away from burning off the apple. Of course I have to burn off at least 180 calories to completely make up for eating, and hopefully more.
My mind feels fuzzy. Like I might black out at any time. But I keep running.
100.
117.
132.
I run mindlessly, my legs pumping fast. I've been going for 15 minutes. I have 15 more minutes left in the workout, and I run even faster. Only fifteen more minutes to burn off 200 calories.
The little black number keeps going up and up and I run as hard as I can.
Blackness encroaches on the side of my vision.
"No," I whisper. I will not pass out. I will not collapse.
When the machine stops, my heart is racing. My heartrate got up to 212.
I stumble back downstairs to the locker room, pull off my tshirt and shorts and shoes, step onto the scale.
112 lbs.
I've lost 20 pounds in three weeks.
112 lbs.
I run at full speed to the Y, which is seven blocks away from my house. I slow to a walk as I enter the lobby and hand my card to the woman at the desk. She smiles at me and I hurry through the halls to the locker room. Throw my hoodie into a locker, change my shoes. Speed-walk up the stairs to the workout room. Claim an elliptical and press Weight Loss, then Fat Burn. Pump my legs up and down, going fast at first. The resistance changes and I slow down minutely. My eyes are glued to the fat black numbers, counting up the calories that I have burned.
15.
I push myself harder, and I can feel myself starting to sweat. I'm less cold than I was before. But I'm still cold.
27.
That number is so small. I begin to count in my head. Only 23 - no, 22 now that the little black number is 28- more calories until I hit fifty. Only 62 - no, 61 now that the little black number is 29 - more calories until I hit ninety, and burn off the Granny Smith apple I ate earlier.
Sweat drips down my back and slides across the rolls of fat on my sides. I am disgusting.
I am disgusting. I am disgusting.
It turns into a mantra, a sick mantra to keep me moving, even though my legs feel weaker with every calorie burned.
35.
I am disgusting. I am disgusting. I am disgusting. I am fat and ugly and disgusting and I need to get rid of all the fat on my body and then I will deserve Rick and I will be thinner than my skinnyskinny best friend.
49.
It's only been five minutes and I've burned 50 calories already. This is good.
My mind goes blank and I run and run and run. My legs are burning and my chest is heaving. Every breath is difficult.
72.
I am losing track of how long I've been running. The only real thing is the little black calorie number going up and up and up.
89.
I am one calorie away from burning off the apple. Of course I have to burn off at least 180 calories to completely make up for eating, and hopefully more.
My mind feels fuzzy. Like I might black out at any time. But I keep running.
100.
117.
132.
I run mindlessly, my legs pumping fast. I've been going for 15 minutes. I have 15 more minutes left in the workout, and I run even faster. Only fifteen more minutes to burn off 200 calories.
The little black number keeps going up and up and I run as hard as I can.
Blackness encroaches on the side of my vision.
"No," I whisper. I will not pass out. I will not collapse.
When the machine stops, my heart is racing. My heartrate got up to 212.
I stumble back downstairs to the locker room, pull off my tshirt and shorts and shoes, step onto the scale.
112 lbs.
I've lost 20 pounds in three weeks.
112 lbs.