In 2011, turned fifty and discovered that middle age is basically the universe handing you a clearance tag and saying, “This one’s been through some things.” The joints creak like a haunted house door, the memories have potholes, and when you sneeze, something somewhere pops like bubble wrap.
But the real adventure — the one no one warns you about — is being fat and turning 60 in today’s society. If you are round, soft, generously cushioned, or, as my Southern grandmother would say, “a woman of substance,” you already know what I’m talking about.
I’ve lived in this body a long time – four years since that real adventure started and 33 years since I weighed under 200 pounds. This body and I have been through marriages, divorces, jobs, parenting, spiritual awakenings, and the slow, progressive collapse of my metabolism, which now functions like an elderly cat — occasionally active, mostly asleep, and definitely not interested in sudden changes. And somewhere along the way, society decided both “fat” and “over 50” are personality flaws, like being chronically late or enjoying raisins in cookies. Over 60 and you might as well just crawl off and die.
To read the rest of this article, click here: https://open.substack.com/pub/krasbold/p/fat-over-sixty-and-somehow-still?r=2hl9iq&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=false