There once was a thin Jeremy, a Jeremy whose shoulders were wider than his hips, whose sweaters didn’t make him look like a woolen bag of pudding, who could wear a medium-sized dress shirt without his stomach breaking through the buttons in a kind of pathetically slow and wobbly jailbreak.
That Jeremy has been gone for years, destroyed by sitting around and eating a lot of shitty cafeteria food at university. Before he left, he bequeathed me his clothing, which I keep in two large plastic bins. He had quite a nice selection of wool and cashmere sweaters, and I plan to fit into them again one day.
Do I seem mentally unbalanced? Obsessive? I’m not, really. I used to be. I used to get very upset when people compared me to thin Jeremy. Did you know that he modelled nude for a bit in his late teens? But I got over him. I want to get thinner, but I don’t crave it the way I did, and I only keep those clothes because I have a whole wardrobe waiting for me just 20 pounds away.
I’ll get there. Last week I felt a bit sick, so I didn’t eat or train very well, but I still lost weight. My trainer, Sam, says that momentum is very important, and I think that I have great momentum, such that 1) even when I’m not training that well, my routine keeps me training well enough, and 2) dietary changes mean that my metabolism is quicker and can compensate for the occasional late-night bowl of pasta (though, as a general rule, I need to avoid those).
I’m no longer sick, but this coming week is going to be hard. The workouts keep getting more difficult. Sam sneakily hands me heavier weights to lift, but I’m usually too dazed and exhausted to fight back. Of course, if thin Jeremy had known enough to stick around, I wouldn’t have to do all this hard work. Oh well: I have that jerk’s sweaters. Screw you, thin Jeremy!
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