I’m a slow study. It wasn’t until I got back that it finally sank in

I

owe an apology to all my friends who ever complained about how hard it was to lose weight after 40. My 30-something self just didn’t get it.

I may have nodded sympathetically, but secretly, I might have been thinking that your “struggles” were just a matter of willpower. Or getting off the couch. Or saying no to cheesecake.

I’m sorry I didn’t feel sorry for you.

I’m over 40 now. I hear you. I see you. I am you.

Since I mostly live in black slinky (or gray, because a girl needs variety!) skirts and loose shirts, I didn’t notice the weight slowly creeping in, like an uninvited Shabbos guest who’s expecting Melaveh Malkah.

But looking back, there might have been signs.

There was the time I flew to Canada with the kids. I had an unattractive fanny pack strapped around my waist, filled with Israeli and American passports. As the responsible adult, I first helped each child through Israel’s digital passport machines. You know, the ones where you place your passport down, look into the camera, and the little plastic gates swing open if the machine believes you are who you say you are.

One by one, the kids got through. Beep, smile, open gate.
Then it was my turn. I smiled. I waited.
Rejected.