Preppy Runner – Theodora Blanchfield

Last night, as I sat getting my nails done, I overheard the owner of the salon telling a customer she looked like she’d gained some weight since the last time she came in.

My head immediately swiveled to see what kind of reaction the woman would have. Remarkably, she was pretty cool about it.

“Yeah, I’ve put on about 7-8 pounds since April. I haven’t been to the gym at all.”

Hearing this conversation brought a multitude of feelings on.

Remembering when I used to be able to say I hadn’t been to the gym in that long. (It was never said proudly, but admitted, sheepishly.)

Remembering once when I went in to my college nail salon after graduation and the owner told me I’d gained weight. I certainly didn’t handle it as well as that woman. My face turned bright red as I admitted that yes, yes I had gained weight since college. Mortified, I excused myself to go to the bathroom, grabbed my friend and got the hell out of there.

No way was I paying someone–someone who I was paying to make me look (and therefore feel) better–to call me fat.

Other than that terrible nail lady (and why is it always nail ladies?), the other person who told me I’d gained weight was my gynecologist in D.C.

At the time, I was furious. Who the hell is she? I thought. This is something my primary care doctor should be telling me. She should just be checking out my lady parts! Now, of course, I know that excess weight can affect any and all systems in your body and she was well within her means to say something, but at the time, I was pissed.

The last person who told me I gained weight was my mom.

“If I don’t tell you, nobody else will.” Uh, no, Mom, the mean nail lady and gyno did. When my mom told me, of course, I wasn’t a fan, either, but I was okay with her telling me because I knew she cared and was looking out for my best interests. Ultimately, though, it had to be me. It had to be me that had reached that moment, where I wasn’t going to live with being unhappy with myself any longer.

So, who would you be okay with telling you you’ve gained weight, and why? Who wouldn’t you be okay with telling you? If you’ve lost weight before, did someone telling you have any effect or did you reach that moment on your own when you knew you needed to change?

For me, I think it’d be my mom and the future man of my life. And a doctor.

Here’s what some of you had to say, but I’d love to hear what the rest of you think:

[blackbirdpie url=”http://twitter.com/#!/kimretta/status/101125256487510016″]

[blackbirdpie url=”http://twitter.com/#!/karathon/status/101127218255761408″]

[blackbirdpie url=”http://twitter.com/#!/MeLess50/status/101125060009537536″]

[blackbirdpie url=”http://twitter.com/#!/heylaney/status/101124327155580929″]

[blackbirdpie url=”http://twitter.com/#!/melissaruns/status/101127880888684544″]

[blackbirdpie url=”http://twitter.com/#!/kl_scott/status/101128702636736512″]

[blackbirdpie url=”http://twitter.com/#!/MelissaLike2Eat/status/101132298224795648″]

[blackbirdpie url=”http://twitter.com/#!/lindsaykap/status/101127424770719744″]

On a lighter note…

Here are my nails! (I’m sorry. Showing my runners’ feet, even if they’re all pedicured, is probably still crossing the line, huh?)

Oh, what’s that? You want to know why I got my nails done?

Oh, I’m starting an awesome new freelance gig today. (On-site, although even if I were working at home for them, I probably still would have gotten my nails done to celebrate :))