Anyway, as much as I would love to no longer be an a**, I am actually more hurt that I am seriously no longer an S. And by this, I mean my dress size. My waist size. My shirt size. My tops. All of the above. It’s true. I AM NO LONGER AN S. What the heck happened?

I’ll tell you what happened. I went to work and got fat.

No warnings no nothing and BAM! fat Renee. I kid you not when I say I am NOT exaggerating. Based on statistics (yes, I performed a statistic on myself. I am that vain), approximately 14 random people from work have whispered lovely statements from the subtle “You look healthy” or “You look strong” (Yes, wth does this even mean?) to the more blunt “You’re arms are getting huge“. Why, thank you very much. And of course, who would in their right mind miss the opportunity to ask me the infamous line “Are you pregnant?“. That was 1/3 of the sample people. One even took the time in between toilet breaks to convince me that I am truly pregnant. Really, thank you kind people.

And I’ve only been working for 5 months in total. So imagine being me, where on average, 2.8 sweet loving people reminding you about your amazing weight every month. I am so lucky it’s not funny.

So I did the most productive thing I could think of to help me with my “situation” (that’s what I’m calling it now) and enrolled myself into the Standard Chartered KL Marathon 2010 recently. Which sadly, I think only managed to pass across the message that fat people can run too. Whatever. I give up.

Notice the last pic? I actually spent half the day, OUT IN PUBLIC, with that cardboard still attached to the inner lining of the cap. What’s that? Yes, ignorance is a bliss.

Apparently my friend,  Afif, went crazy and got himself committed into entering a marathon run early next August. Evidently, this meant frequent practice runs in the evenings. The craziness caught on and the next thing I knew, Raja and I were conned, I mean volunteering ourselves to join him for one of those evening runs.

Oh boy, were there many excuses. Not from us but from the “marathon runner” himself. Every lame excuse from “haze” to “I have no suitable running pants” were coughed up. But eventually, we made the impossible happen. We got our lazy bums to the track and ran a few good rounds. Ok, perhaps running is too big of a word. We struggled. Well, at least I did. I could have sworn death was waving at me. Then again, maybe that was Afif.

Anyway, here are some shots. And my bad, he really wasn’t kidding about the pants.

Side note: Raja ended up eating 3 times after the run. At this rate, exercising might actually result in obesity. This must be a first.