Winter Weight Gain

I’ve heard this term, used by friends, co-workers, and my most recent book (about which you will probably read more tomorrow), and I’ve decided I don’t like it. I’ve been sick with a pretty raging cough the past couple of weeks, and I finally went to the doctor yesterday to get some medication for it. I stepped on the scale when I checked in and was not happy to see the numbers on the scale light up to reveal the highest weight I’ve ever called my own. I’ve gone up one belt notch since moving here, and my clothes definitely don’t fit the same that they did before I moved here. 

The natives and transplants alike have told me it’s because I’ve never experienced a real winter before. I’m used to my weight remaining pretty constant, and before this year, I’ve never really wavered more than about 5 pounds since I stopped growing in height at age 12. I know I don’t bike like I did before, I spend more time sitting, and less time at the gym, but I didn’t really know that my body had the capacity to change so much in six months of cold, dark dampness. The days here are still dark, rainy, and cold, and it’s almost April.

I knew I would probably have a hard time with the weather when I was looking at moving here, but I never stopped to consider how the weather might affect my weight. It’s strange, these things that happen when I leave the near-perfect climate of my beloved California. I’ve gotta get back to the sun, and to warmth. I’m tired of the house being in the 50s all the time (Yes, that’s right, we have an old, expensive, and relatively ineffectual heating system), and I’m tired of seeing 30-something degree temperatures in my car in the mornings. 

California, you spoiled me, and now that I’ve actually experienced real weather, I’ve got to admit…I miss you.

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