This weekend’s goal is to buy motorcycle pants for the upcoming trip. My old ones, though adequate, have become a little too tight. This of course saddens me to no end. My regular clothes seem fine, even if maybe not so roomy, but my motorcycle pants went from being comfy with jeans on under them (which apparently is just freaky anyway) to wearable, but not comfortable. And since we are living in our gear for the most part, I need them to fit and fit well.

SO my suspicion has been confirmed by the scales, and the bike, and ugh. And after watching my friends battle their eating disorders (and yes, s as in plural, with three confirmed and open about their struggle) I know I should ignore the creeping feeling of disgust, and either accept the fact or adjust my eating habits and head to the gym more. (With my membership I pay for and barely use).

Why is it then that despite years of feminism and activism behind me that instead of accepting my body shape (which I wont describe as entirely new because after my car accident I gained 25 pounds, which I then lost again a year later, admittedly however to gain again right before Japan when I had 3 months between acceptance and departure, and I figured I would never have “Western” food again and proceeded to eat EVERYTHING in the hopes my fat stores when burned at a later date would release the memory into my blood stream) or doing something healthy to change it (which I have done in the past, the first time making my brother who is a personal trainer set me up on a “lifestyle change” with my meals and an exercise program, the second time I just ate so well in Japan and biked everywhere, as in pedal bike) my real desire is to cut out food all together and reach for a handful of Phentermine.

Despite healthy options here I just go straight to the bakeries. I love them, I adore them, I have no will power.

Sigh, maybe after committing it to Blog space I will finally stop hitting the bakery twice a day (breakfast - pastry, lunch - streussel, or however you spell it, an amazing combo of pastry, icing sugar, and butter drenched backed crumbs on top) and start eating ok. (Because this is not weight that comes with age, but rather weight that comes from a pastry/chocolate diet heavy on the cheese and beer).

I am really starting to like living here in Stuttgart, (as in for Stuttgart, and not just for the fact Europe is easy access), but I need to cut back on the baked goods. Not the beer and chocolate however, that is just inhumane!

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