Amazon Trail
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The Amazon Trail The Weight of the World |
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by
Lee Lynch
Weight is a weighty subject.
I've been sensitive about being skinny. Now I'm sensitive about being
heavier than I'd like to be. I can't win, even when I'm arguing only with
myself.
Nobody else wants to hear about it. This
blocky shape that I've become worries no one but me. My partner doesn't
seem to mind my new solidity. I seem generally more confident and outgoing
these days, but I have no idea if that has anything to do with shape shifting.
I grew up skinny. Everyone in my family
who's been long-lived has been thin. This convinces me that with my genes
I would do well to shed whatever pounds might bring my silhouette back
toward the Ichabod Crane model.
Believe me, I love that my characters Chantal
and Pam and Lucy are big women. I'm not into judging anyone but myself
although I'm sure society's measuring tape has ingrained itself in my
consciousness.
Have another Ghirardelli chocolate chip.
I only know how to spell the name because they're in front of me. Seventy
calories per 1 and 1/3 cup. Not bad. Calories from fat: 35. Oh.
I hate knowing these things! And I hate
having no will power. How did this happen to me? I loved being a skinny
androgynous person.
Age happened. I remember when I first started
getting a tummy. I got an exercise book. It detailed the YMCA or Marine
or some such regimen. I was gung-ho and followed it religiously. It didn't
take many push ups to develop the tendonitis of the shoulder that I live
with to this day.
Another book was specifically geared to
flattening one's stomach. I was not religious enough. Yoga was great,
but I suspect only yoga instructors can put in the time to shape up. Certainly
I couldn't, balancing a full time job and a writing career.
For a period of time, I was cured of my
food allergy. Before that my eating choices were severely limited. After
the cure, by an acupuncturist using the NAET program, which re-programs
the body, I began experimenting.
My allergy had been to corn. Because corn
is so pervasive in America, I couldn't eat white flour, white sugar and
a host of other foods processed with corn or containing some derivative.
Over those months I learned to eat Mexican food (corn tortillas), returned
to Chinese food (corn starch) and dove into American food (corn syrup).
I could eat pickles again, and tartar sauce and Cheerios. Potato
chips and fudgsicles and Three Musketeers! Rich butter-fatty ice cream
and anything I wanted at potlucks.
We went to the fair one weekend. I went
hog wild, eating Italian sausage for lunch and cinnamon-sugar doughboys
for dessert. I tasted funnel cake.
Last night I swore I'd have tea instead
of indulging in taste orgies. Ha! I'm a born-again glutton ready to take
on any dish that appeals plus thirds. I dream of creamsicles. I fondly
recall the summers of my youth when I lay on the beach reading and delighting
in a Milky Way. I haven't tried corn on the cob yet, but give me another
week. This burgeoning middle-aged appetite came at a bad time: middle
age, to be specific. This is when the thickening of the body occurs with
no help at all. When menopause makes a person like me more nervous and
I add compulsive eating to my recipe for living. When arthritis set in
and I, for one, became disabled for a year because of corrective foot
surgery. I couldn't partake of optimal exercise (no complaints from me).
When I needed medications to resolve one problem and their side effects
created another – weight gain.
I understand that it's okay not to be an
anorexic model. That's not what I aspire to. I just want to be able to
climb stairs again without feeling like I'm lugging sacks of potatoes
in my pockets. I just want to stop buying all new sizes year after year.
I just want kids to taunt androgynous me on the streets like they used
to.
Someone said it was good to see me enjoying
food. She'd witnessed me discovering Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia. A
whole pint of it at once. So much good food, so little time.
I went shopping on the Web. Climbing pants
have roomy gusseted crotches. Baggy jeans are still in style. T-shirts
come in extra-large. Send me clothes with room to move.
There's no stopping me now. The joy of cooking's
become a lifestyle. I only follow one rule, the quote we have posted on
our refrigerator door: "Never eat more than you can lift." –
Miss Piggy.
Lee Lynch is the author of eleven books including The Swashbuckler and the Morton River Valley Trilogy. She lives on the Oregon Coast, and comes from a New England family. Her web page is at leelynch6.tripod.com
© Lee Lynch 2004