Back in my early 20s, I could easily slip into slim pants with a 30 waist. Fast forward to my mid-20s, and I moved up to a 32 waist. At the start of last year, I reluctantly swapped the 32s for 33s, using a belt to keep them up. It was kind of a relief, actually, since a 33 felt more like my real size. There was something about being a little larger that seemed better; I didn’t want to look like a high school troublemaker for my entire 20s. A size 33 fit me well, and I accepted it without much fuss.
Then I hit one of the biggest milestones in my life apart from having a child—getting married. After my honeymoon in Italy last May, where I indulged in lots of pizza and pasta, I noticed some subtle changes. I mean, weight gain can be sneaky. I didn’t weigh myself daily, nor did I keep track of my burger consumption. I stayed active, running and hitting the gym, and in my mind, I was still a size 33. I thought I could enjoy my food without consequences.
But reality has a way of catching up. My pants, which had been loose, started to fit snugly. The belt, once necessary, became pretty useless. Somehow the button on my pants felt more precarious. I was still pretending that nothing was wrong. Just a few weeks ago, I found myself in a J.Crew, which, to be honest, I rarely visit. Shopping isn’t my thing. I decided to try on some new khaki pants—basic, timeless stuff—sizing up to a 34.
However, the fitting room lights are brutal. They highlight every unflattering detail, and I felt exposed, despite still being mostly dressed. When I looked in the mirror, I didn’t like what I saw—the way my stomach protruded felt uncomfortable. That moment was like a reality check, leading to the realization that I actually needed a 36. It hit me hard; the days of fitting into 30 to 32 were behind me.
Later that evening, I weighed myself. The scale, much like the fitting room mirror, doesn’t lie. The numbers were staggering, and I needed to repeat it, hoping it would change. But the truth remained, and I couldn’t believe I had gained weight after marriage. It felt like a personal shock; I thought I was immune to such things.
Since then, I’ve made some adjustments to my diet. I’m trying to treat my beloved cheeseburger as a special treat instead of a regular meal. When I do drink, I choose lighter options. I enjoy IPAs, but they can be a bit too heavy for what I want. My body reacts differently, and while I can still sprint, I’m more cautious about how my knees feel. It’s all part of aging and marriage. Perhaps, like me, you’ll find it’s better to enjoy life at a slow, steady pace rather than rushing through it.
Yes, it seems almost expected to gain weight after getting married. Social media influencers and gym friends might say otherwise, but unless you’re a couple that trains together or runs marathons as a hobby, you’re likely to pack on some pounds—especially after marrying that special someone. In my case, it was nearly 30 pounds.
The silver lining? My wife doesn’t mind at all; in fact, she appreciates the extra padding. I think she actually prefers it. We might have picked up some of that laid-back Italian lifestyle during our honeymoon, embracing the idea of “la dolce vita.” And as they say, “Tuttopassa.” Enjoy life, even if it’s not always the healthiest. This too shall pass, including the need for a size 36 waist.
