Despite all the myriads of
books, ideas, diet plans, it only comes down to three things; eat less,
exercise more or some combination of the two.
Yet
there are millions, like me, who are dumbfounded to find a way to do
this. For us, it is more than the mere calculation of what we digest
and what we burn, for us, we do not eat to live, we live to eat. Food
becomes the salve we slather over our emotional burns and scars. Food
becomes the healer of our soul. We turn to the one thing that does not
judge, it’s only purpose to provide comfort. That comfort is fleeting,
so we need more..and more..and more.
The
very notion of a “diet” makes us ill. Like we are losing the only
friend who has really stood the test of time. Food knows me well, knows
my darkest secrets and yet remains and I want to throw that friendship
away? Food has protected me over the years, provided a much needed
extra skin with which to suffer the indignities of rejection. What
other friend can you blame ALL your problems on, and yet still keeps
coming back for more. My dog is like that, but I refuse to eat him.
So
many times I have said goodbye to this old friend, I have reached the
peak of perfection, only to tumble to the bottom again. More often than
not, I say goodbye, only to traverse the base of the mountain, just
looking at the top, coming full circle back to my friend. He is still
there, waiting. Good friend.
There comes a
point where this friend becomes deadly. Choking the flow of my very
blood, raising my sugar level intolerably. There are times when I can
no longer bear the weight of my friend, as he pushes down on my very
joints, slowing or stopping those things I most enjoy in life.
Others
look at me and see weakness. That is OK, I look at me and see weakness
as well. I see a doormat, being walked all over by this friend, I see
someone unable to let go of things past.
I
want to live, you know? Not forever, just well. I want to live with
purpose and meaning. I want to make a difference and validate my
existence beyond propping up the Lays / Pepsi Corporation. Does being
fat stop me from all that? Yes. It becomes something to hide behind, to
peer out from and see what is going on, then dart behind again for
protection. Unfair. Being a coward is unfair to the rest of the world.
It takes from it that small bit of uniqueness that is you, that tiny
infinitesimal part of your potential that fits some niche like a peg.
For
sure, there is more here than meets the eye. There is a strangling mess
of guts, deep wounds that sink into the caverns of our innards, growing
rotten as they go unnoticed. There are nerves like wires that carry old
impulses and learned behaviors, like electricity to the brain, causing
knee jerk reactions to dangerous and feared stimuli.
Courage
then becomes the word of the day, the ability to overcome habitual
fears. To have the courage to crush this fatty armor, pulverize it into
submission until it melts away. Even more courage is required to let go
of that quest, let it slip from your mind, your fork and spoon. Still
more courage then to pick up the challenge for things more daunting and
scary, for things that move the world. Courage to be a part of that world,
instead of just on it.
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