This I Believe

Hen, come on the floor is shaking, and your sister is trying to sleep!” “One more mile, Mom!”

Off the treadmill, I’d go and immediately take off my shirt. Turning sideways, I’d look at my progress and feel around for those dreaded love handles. I GOT THIS!

You would think after a long workout I’d go downstairs and eat a delicious homemade meal (I mean my mom is 100% Italian and an amazing cook), but no. I’d reach into the freezer and grab one of the hundreds of little boxes titled “Weight Watchers,” and with a sigh, I’d take off the plastic.

That’s a dinner?! Jeez, this looks like a good afternoon snack!

What in the world was this twelve-year-old doing? Now, was his time to eat those juicy burgers, greasy fries, and gooey cookies. But, he decided it was time to stop.

He no longer wanted to wear a swim shirt on the beach. No longer wanted to tuck in his stomach to fit into his school uniform. But most importantly, this was middle-school Henry, and he wanted to be a player!

He held himself well, walking down the hallways with his classic grin and would never hesitate to make a quick comment at one of the pretty girls in his class.

“Yo Alyssa, how you doing?”

But, he wanted to fit the bill.

Day by day, run by run, and sit-up by sit-up little hen watched the numbers on the bathroom scale drop. It was no cake walk battling through grandma yelling, “Hen, stop starving yourself!” and friends chuckling “Hahaha what are you on a diet, loser?”

But at the end of the day, I thought, “Fuck it. I got this.” It’s something I put my mind to, something that I wanted for myself. I wanted to be slim. I wanted to fit the image of the cocky little kid which I was.

Later that year, I walked around the spring carnival with my girlfriend. We laughed and smiled as we played games and rode all of the rides. And when we were on the teacups, and I held her hand under the seat, I looked at our embrace and repeated the words in my head:

I got this!    

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