33% bodyfat, determined by the ever-reliable pinch-an-inch method.

There's nothing like meeting with a personal trainer to destroy any positive body image you might have had. I worry constantly about my body image, more than I worry about my actual body, mainly because my mother, and, for that matter, pretty much every woman in my life, has suffered her entire life from a negative self-image. My mother has paid out thousands to various businesses, so that they can sell her more information, more negativity, more crap than she knows what to do with, all of which tells her that she just needs to pay more money to be thin, without ever defining a healthy goal for her. Asking me, "well, how much weight would you like to lose?" makes me swallow back an angry, "none."

Would I like to be healthier? Yes. Lead a less-lethargic lifestyle? You bet; that's why I joined a gym, bucko. Look better naked? But of course.

But do I want to "lose weight?" Thanks, but not particularly.

Trainer: Well, what size do you wear now?
Me: Fourteen.
Trainer: What size would you like to be?
Me: (through gritted teeth): Ten?
Trainer: Let's really get serious about this... when was the last time you were an eight?
Me: When I was twelve.

In retrospect, he had some good points. I don't schedule my eating well. I rarely eat breakfast, and have a light lunch and a huge dinner. He insists this forces my body to store the food I do provide under the assumption that it doesn't know when the next meal will come. This makes sense. And I can't argue with the fact that I'm a lazy bum. Giving up the sports-centric lifestyle I've led my whole life has taken its toll. It's just that smarmy vibe that comes from anyone making their living off someone else's health. This was just a complimentary meeting, a "reward" for joining the gym, and facing the state of my health in any capacity always makes me feel like this. I know he can help me, and I know he didn't mean to make me feel "fat" or "sick," but he (or maybe just growing up through the eighties and nineties, watching my mother continuously dieting; being told lately that I have a "pudgy little belly" growing; watching E and MTV and the Victoria's Secret fashion show; feeling menstrual, stressed out from the move, and exhausted) did.