I'm a bad person.
I am. Bad, bad, bad. I suffer from a new type of prejudice. I'm mean and inconsiderate of some people's emotional needs. I propagate negative stereotypes. I'm inconsiderate, cruel and insensitive.
You see, I'm what they call. . . antifat.
I admit it. I'm against excess body fat. I'm one of those bigoted bastards who thinks being fat is unhealthy, so I'm lumped into the same group as sexists and racists.
The other day I suggested to a fat person that perhaps a grilled chicken breast, steamed vegetables, and unsweetened tea would be a healthier lunch than a plate of deep fried flour, a side of transfat, and a glass of sucrose.
Clearly, this was a form of hate crime. I might as well have burned a cross in front of a black church, beat up a gay guy, or kicked one of Jerry's kids. I'm antifat, and that's apparently just as bad.
I didn't know I was antifat until I read a new study presented at the ACSM's Annual Meeting. In the study, 317 kids between the ages of 11 and 16 were surveyed about their attitudes toward fat people.
These middle-schoolers were of the opinion that fat people consumed too many calories, ate too much junk food, and didn't get enough physical activity. They also said that fat people were less healthy than leaner people. The study's author noted that negative attitudes and stereotypes develop at a young age and something must be done to curb this antifat behavior.
This would probably be a bad time to propose my theory for ending world hunger: grind up obese North Americans, make them into a delightful summer sausage, and feed them to starving Ethiopians.
Yes, I'm a bad person.
I used to be a fat person too, but in an act of self-hatred and auto-discrimination, I lost the excess lard. In a subsequent string of antifatism, I started lifting weights and eating lots of healthy foods. Then, in an effort to recruit more people into the antifatist regime, I started writing articles about how to lose fat, build muscle, get strong, and live longer.
Adolf Hitler, eat your little black heart out.
I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to cure this antifat disease. Maybe I need counseling. Maybe I need an intervention. Maybe I need sued by NAAFA. Maybe I need to develop a fat fetish and become a chubby chaser.
Or perhaps the best solution is to just get fat again. Even fatter than before if possible. Because honestly, this eating clean, training hard, and having self-discipline thing takes work sometimes. It sure would be easier to eat crap, avoid moving around much, and bitch about discrimination when I couldn't fit into a seat at the movie theatre.
It's tough though. It's hard to give up my antifatitude. I just feel really good being lean. I'm healthier, I'm happier, I perform better, I'll live longer, people treat me better, and I have a lot more sex now.
But I'm going to work on it. I'm joining a support group that meets at McDonald's every day at lunch. And at dinner. And three times a week at breakfast. The first step, after fortifying yourself with a Triple Thick Shake, is to admit your problem:
"My name is Chris and I'm antifat. But I haven't used the word 'fatty' in 13 days now. And this morning I ate a box of Lucky Charms with chocolate milk poured over the top. My doctor said I could develop Type 2 diabetes in another year or two if I work really hard at."
Then everyone says hi and claps for me.
Yes, I'm a bad person. But I'm getting better. I really am.
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