distinctly uncomfortable

The pie...was not a success. (the Yorkshire pudding, pt 2, was however. Unrivalled in its glory) I think the problem was I didn't cook down the blueberries enough and then added frozen before I let them thaw. The water from the frozen threw off the water/flour ratio, and the result was pie-soup in a graham cracker crust. Disgusting! Except when you scoop it over delicious vanilla ice-cream. Mmm...

My roommate, Jordon, is a W&M student, she's going to be a physical therapist some day. She is a dedicated academic, cleans the kitchen without prompting, runs marathons for fun and she babysits Kismet when I have to work. And she's watching "The Biggest Loser" right now. I got into the show last year, mostly because Jordon watched it, but I came into the season when people were losing dozens of pounds left and right, spouting feel-good maxims and it was mostly equal, harmless fun. Tonight's the series premiere, when America is introduced to the freak show that is this year's crop of losers, pre-losing. And suddenly I don't quite have the stomach for ice cream and pie soup.

It's not that the contestants are anything new--some of them are scarily big, and they've already had to take one person to the hospital after running a mile. But some of them are not much bigger than I am. And I am sitting here, squinting, confused, watching while women wail into their hands and swear--swear--that they will lose the weight and never, EVER allow themselves to get that big again. Okay. So how is that supposed to make me feel?

Apparently pretty crappy, according to the trainers, who are gushing about how "oh, this is the biggest show we've had so far, but this is how America looks now." So even though I'm at the small end of my size spectrum, I'm supposed to feel ashamed of my body because I'm still not small enough for mainstream America. And now we have a doctor who's point blank telling these people they're sick. Overweight, yes, but that's a "disease" you can take care of. Arg. I'm already feeling bad because the weight is slooowly piling on (I blame Jeff, who likes to take me out and feed me well) and with two weddings coming up, I've been eating salads for lunch and trying to walk Kizzy for an hour each night. Like yer supposed ta. But I'm not trying to become obsessed about my weight. I will lose ten pounds, get back to the post-London weight, and then I'm done. And I won't feel ashamed because someone on The Biggest Loser is starting out at my target weight.

At least, that's the hope...