As I struggle with my weight, I often fall jealous of my slender peers. Their ability to subscribe to the same or worse eating habits than I is discouraging. But then I also see the other health issues they must dance with every day and I recognize the balance.
I believe there’s a cosmic game at play where we’re all dealt different cards. In my family’s genetic hand, obesity is literally our burden. We’re built like tanks: Resistant to disease with a high tolerance for injury and intoxication…and also hulks of living mass.
I’m beginning to believe that our flab isn’t as much fat cells as it is just where our immune system banishes disease. We collect the cancers, infections, and other biological villains; detain them, and use them as armor.
The trade off is that while many branches of my family tree (I am such a limb) isn’t as opportune to bear fruit, it’s very good seed to sow. That’s not to say that we’re ghoulish or repulsive–we can be very attractive people–it’s just that our robustness has a tight, uncomfortable fit in the superficial world.
Of course, my excess weight doesn’t rest on my genetics’ shoulders alone; I’m as much to blame. I have one or two cousins who’ve managed to beat the odds and maintained a slim, fit form. This supports the theory that if I was much more active, I might achieve similar results. It’s a sound theory I’d love to test once I get beyond the psychological heaps that make my physical goals such an uphill battle.