A "Dear John" letter to my dear gut

For anyone who has fought or is fighting in the Battle of the Bulging Belly, you have probably read or heard a variety of techniques to motivate you to exercise, stick with a diet, etc. One method that I came across several years ago spoke to the writer in me. The person wrote a break-up letter to her stomach.  I thought it was an interesting concept, so I gave it a shot. This version is edited slightly; I can be a bit vulgar sometimes but on this platform, I try to keep it clean. I chose to name my gut (which is the excessive part of my abdominal area - not the essential organs and such) "Fredo" after the character from The Godfather.

Dear Fredo, 
I know we've been through a lot.  You came into my life in full force when I was 10 so Mom started taking me to WeightWatchers with her. That was just the beginning of our relationship. In fact, I haven't been able to shake you since then.

 I thought I would move on without you after my freshmen year of high school when I flirted with Field Hockey that fall so you weren't around as much. But  then I spent less time with Field Hockey and more time with you and that other couple we've spent so much time with, Food and Television. I'll give you credit for sticking with me during the turbulent teenage years of high school, and then the stress fest that was college. We didn't do the Freshman Fifteen - we went all out for the Freshman Forty! 

I got serious about ending things during my junior year when I went to Weight Watchers at Work.  The leader was great, I enjoyed my fellow attendees, and faithfully attended meetings - until the summer was over. I still don't know how you convinced me to just go for weigh-ins...that I didn't need to stay for the actual meeting. After college, we partied like rock stars when I moved home with the parents, and then to Vermont for work. Despite everything I said about getting in shape those next few years, I never followed through.

Then there was that "intervention" with the girls in the fall of 2009. We agreed to train for a 5K together - and I really, really thought you were moving out for good. Even after the lay-off and a seizure resulted in me being in Maine without driving privileges, I kept exercising and you were disappearing. When I thought I was well on my way to being on my own, there they were: cupcakes! I just know you had something to do with that. You know how I feel about frosting.

Finally, the third Weight Watchers attempt over a year ago didn't take after the parents' divorce and the holidays from hell. And now? Well, now I am tired of the excuses I make to myself for not kicking you out permanently. You're bad news for my bad back and bad knees. You do NOTHING for me. You are sucking the life out of me - emotionally and physically. We're done. Pack your bags of lard and get out!!

Not-so-fondly,
Stroutacus