Clothes. I loathe…nay…despise…whatever you get the point…for the love of God and all things holy and great in this world I hate clothes shopping for “normal” things. Shopping for clothes that I can buy baggy and loose in a futile attempt to hide my disappointment with my binge eating emotionally bruised and inflated body, makes me cringe. Hate it. Avoid it. Really don’t care for it. I hate it only slightly less than I hate beets and if you know me you know that’s A.LOT.
Shopping for clothes to wear during the triathlon has introduced me to a brand new realm in the scope of abhorring something. A realm in which I must find a skin-tight suit suitable enough to contain the robust and amply padded torso I have created through years of hiding from myself behind food. It makes me want to eat a donut and say screw it. But I won’t. But I want to. But I can’t.
I’m going to have to rent a mens size for this season.* Sweet Jesus. I’m sorry to anyone who might fall witness to this spectacle.
*Um…I just realized I said this season…what the hell does that mean? WHERE ARE MY OREOS?!?