First, let me say that I've spent more time fretting, worrying, obsessing, and despairing over my weight than I have anything else in life. That made me fertile ground for dieting and all its attendant woes.
My mother, bless her heart, taught me well. We all know that she never hit 100 pounds until she was pregnant with me. We all know that her ideal weight, after having 4 kids in 5 years, was 102. That was the magic number and as surely as the scales read 103, out came the exercise record ---- yes, a 33rpm ---- and we kids circled up in the front room with her, bending and stretching and touching our toes. We never had weird dietary food, but it was common knowledge that a medium apple was 85 calories. I'm not sure she ever ate anything for which she couldn't calculate the caloric value.
But those were also the days of playing outside, walking instead of riding uptown, and severely restricted television time --- one hour a day (at most) and Saturday morning cartoons. It wasn't until I hit the 100 mark that I started to worry. Somehow, that three digit number flipped a switch in my brain. From that time forward, about age 13, the fretting began.
It didn't help to have boyfriends who kept track of my weight, or a father who made sly comments. It also didn't help that I was naturally top-heavy, which set up its own shock waves in the body-image department. Everything hit at once, and addictive self-destruction became the name of the game.
I went on my first diet at 108 pounds. Yes. 1-0-8. I thought I was horribly fat. That first diet, which consisted of severe calorie restriction, did the trick so I could get back down to the family standard, 102. I had adopted that shibboleth as my own, though it proved to be elusive as time wore on. This diet was followed over the years by all the major fads and latest scientifically proven plans. One after another the diet worked and I failed. That was my assessment, anyway.
Now? My wii fit tells me, with no apologies, that I'm obese and I need to weigh 109 pounds. Seems those high school boyfriends were right. Will that ever happen? Not in this lifetime. Closer would be nice, but the torturous attempt to reach that goal would probably do me in.
Which brings me to the watermelon. I was digging into a nice fat chunk for breakfast ---- after being reminded of my current state by the wii ----- when I realized that watermelon is perfect for me. I'm a sweets addict. It's sweet, like dessert. It's nearly all water, so it makes me feel full afterwards. It's brightly colored, red and green and black, so it appeals to my aesthetic sense. And I have to pay attention to it while I eat. It's important not to get the seedless kind, which leaves the way open for reading a book or watching the Daily Show while eating. All the many "healthy eating" books, websites, articles, etc. say to pay attention and not eat unconsciously. If you eat a seeded watermelon without regard for the seeds, you're going to swallow them and, as my great-aunt warned me when I was little, a watermelon will grow in your stomach!
I'm not dieting, just so you know. I no longer calculate calories like my mother did right up until she was overtaken by Alzheimers Disease. She's still a little thing, no bigger than a wisp, but she eats what she wants these days, when she remembers to eat at all. Sunday she had three desserts at the end of brunch. Yesterday, she took 6 slices of watermelon, to the amusement of the entire serving staff at the Heritage, who kidded her good-naturedly as she walked by with her towering red and green stack.
I don't want to wait till I lose my mind to make this lifelong internal struggle subside. Right now,when I have so many days of calm, redemptive, focused action, I'm simply trying to remember to "expand to include" even the things I resist about myself. Nothing has ever changed from a stance of non-acceptance. I've got nearly 50 years of resistance behind me and it hasn't worked yet. Perhaps I can practice acceptance, and being here now.
Make mine serenity, with a slice of watermelon on the side.
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