Fat Woman Walking

If we adults played like very young children, we would probably never get fat, certainly not obese. If we approached physical activity like children do – that is, before the lure of technology and the opposite sex kicks in – we would probably never give up moving our bodies. We would always be in tip-top shape. We would never get up in the morning and groan about having to hit the gym or the great outdoors. We would just jump into our play clothes and shoes and hit the pavement. No drama. It’s all about attitude: children embrace activity – they enjoy playing outside and exploring their surroundings and making new friends. As a child, I wasn’t especially adept at or fond of organized sports – I was never much of a rule lover – but I did spend a lot of time outside, roaming the neighborhood and finding other kids to play with: the Stanislavs, the Crannys, the Behrens, the Bolands, the Hawkins, among others. Freestyling kids don’t select their friends because of commo...

From the beginning , I have hated Lady Troddenhill. There she stands in the family room, large and imperious, her slim gray lines, her curves, her blinking green display, her nagging beeps. Judgmental bitch. Like a wild horse, she bucks, threatening to toss me off like a rag doll. Who needs that? Yet, for Sheldon, she performs perfectly: as Sheldon runs her tread – first at 4 mph, eventually reaching 5.5 mph, 15% grade – her well-oiled motor hums evenly. For the past three and a half years, Sheldon has run in place for one hour, every day, wearing out three pairs of Nikes. Damn him. My song, defiant and zaftig, echoes: “Fat Lady Phantasy in B-Minor ” Oh, Lord, I’m just another fat lady What song would you want me to sing? I’ll sing my song all over this place, praise Thee! I’ll mix the blues with a symphony of paisley. Tell me, Lord, what colors may I bring? Oh, Lord, I’m just another fat lady. Tell me, Lord, You think I’m red hot crazy? Pl...

"The Beginning" A Shadow Selfie of the Author Summer 2016 _____________________________________ I began walking as a fat woman. A year later, I would be a thin woman walking, but I will always see that haughty fat woman in the pink, straw hat walking through the KFC Drive Thru, snapping shadow selfies and photos of arrows and Exit signs painted on the pavement. I have become an expert walker; I walk three miles nearly every day, in all kinds of weather and circumstances. I walked on Thanksgiving. I walked on Christmas Day. I walked on New Year’s Eve and Day. I walked on Easter. I walked on Memorial Day. I walked on the Fourth of July. I walked on Labor Day. I have calluses on my feet and the worn-out shoes to prove my endurance. I do not have superpowers, nor am I anyone special – I am just afraid, afraid not to walk – that if I don’t keep on walking my body will grow inert and, yet again, logy, soft, fat. Perhaps die before my time. In most t...