A Fat Girl Nightmare Come True

I survived the business trip I mentioned in my last post. Not without some Fat Girl Nightmare Come True experiences, however.

I work for an oil company (don't hate me or else I will have to take the time to post all the reasons why $4/gallon is actually quite a bargain for gasoline). For us, a trip to a field office means a trip to the boondocks. In this case, the trip took me deep in the bayous of southern Louisiana. I have never experienced humidity like I experienced those two days in the bayou. It was only 83 degrees but about 5 billion percent humidity. But I get ahead of myself with the traumas of travelling in a fat suit.

I got myself to the airport in plenty of time so that I would not have to hurry and be huffing and puffing and sweating as I made my way to the gate. Didn't matter. I got there the same time as two colleagues and so feel obligated to try to keep their pace and ended up huffing and puffing and sweating anyway. I really cannot overemphasize just how much I was sweating. This was not a lovley glow or even a few beads on the upper lip. Sweat was running down my face in rivers. My hair was wet. I looked like I had just finished working out. This was the state I was in as we waited for our plane and I was forced to meet half a dozen colleagues I had never met before. Everyone was quite kind in pretending not to notice I was panting like a dog and sweating like a horse.

Next up, boarding the plane. We are on Southwest and all I can think is "aren't they the airline that makes fat people buy two seats?" I just wanted to find a seat, get in it, and not look up or around. I ended up snagging one of the very front seats. The seat belt was too short. I could not stand the embarrassment of asking for an extender so I faked that the seatbelt was closed. Yes, I was risking my own safety to avoid embarrassment.

As we waited for the plane to finish boarding, one of the flight attendants asked me if I was afraid of flying. He had noticed my profuse sweating and assumed I was having a panick attack. Maybe I was, but if I was, it wasn't for the reasons he assumed. He handed me a stack of paper towels and I wanted to die.

The flight from Dallas to New Orleans is only about an hour. We landed, deplaned, and gathered to figure out who was riding in what car. We set off for the car rental counter. Again, I am huffing and puffing and sweating. We headed down an escalator and inside I was rejoicing at the few seconds I could set my bag down and rest. But upon getting to the bottom, we realized we actually needed to be up. And the up escalator was not working. So I hauled myself up the stairs. My own 350 pounds plus my bag. Still sweating rivers.

Outside waiting for our car the air was so thick with humidity I felt like I had to chew it before I could breathe it. There were no benches to sit on while waiting and I stood there sweating, back aching, trying to catch my breathe and act like everything was normal. We got our car and the colleague who drove the car I was in could not have been kinder. He just said, "I'll let you adjust the temperature." The gentleman's way of saying, "I can see you are about to spontaneously combust so feel free to crank down the AC."

We had about an hour's drive to where we were going so I was able to rest, catch my breath, and cool down. I felt so exhausted I just wanted to get where we were going and go to bed. When we finally got to where we were staying I did have to do the whole "meet and greet" thing which was not as horrific as I had thought it would be. By then I had stopped sweating and I didn't notice any pointing and staring as I (irrationally, maybe) thought there would be.

The next day was full of meetings and then we were off again back to Dallas. The trip back was pretty much the same thing as the trip there. This time the plane was a little bigger and apparently bigger planes have longer seatbelts because this one fit. Getting off the plane in Dallas I decided I was on my own. I was not going to try to keep up with or chat with any of my colleagues. I ended up having to stop and rest 3 times before getting out of the airport and one more time as I entered the parking garage. I honestly feared what was going to happen to me if I couldn't find my car because there was no way I could traipse all over that garage without collapsing. Thankfully I did find my car.

I got in the car, cranked up the AC, and just sat there for a minute to gather myself. I was frazzled. Physically and emotionally. I cried in my car in that parking garage. And I cried the whole way home. A simple one night trip a short one hour away had left me exhausted and broken. How is it I let myself get like this? And what will it take to get me to change? I am clearly hurting myself terribly.

Why can't I stop? Why won't I change?