Is Life More Than Food? (Thin Enough)
The First Diet (Thin Enough Book Excerpt)
…I remember mom coaxing me into my first diet. All I ate for days straight was pineapple. Al-o-o-ha! It took me at least a good ten to fifteen years before I could enjoy the fruit again. But I trusted Mom. She knew best. After all, I’d seen her go on many diets before. I thought, “If I do this, then I’ll be okay. If I do this, then I’ll make things better.” A diet was the answer.
“40% of 9-year-old girls have dieted.”
—Susan Ice, M.D., Medical Director, The Renfrew Center http://www.renfrew.org.
… My first diet ended almost when it started, beginning an endless dieting rollercoaster. Diet after diet would start with this angelic-choir Hallelujah moment, followed by this new revelation that “This is the diet. Diet ye in it.”
Oftentimes, Mom and I would treat dieting as a buddy project. Mom and I would always start on what day? Monday! Yes, Monday was always the day of the fresh start, the answer. Whenever Mom and I were inspired to go on a diet, we’d have one last Sunday blowout, eating all of the “bad food” to get it out of our systems. We were ready to begin our new lives!
Question: Do you believe there are foods that are “good” foods and others that are “bad” foods?
On Monday, there would be commitment and enthusiasm! We’d throw out all the junk food and swear it off forever. We’d institute an exercise program, complete with graph paper and gold stars. Together, we would begin arm circle exercises, bicycle kicks and sit-ups. Looking back, I find it fitting that these exercises were all movement and no destination. We were moving alright, we just weren’t going anywhere. There would also be the measurement, weighing, and counting of ingredients and calories. Mom and I even had our own little notepads, recording our daily menus.
We could usually keep it up for two or three days. Monday was a great start, but every day after it led to our downfall. With each passing day, the Hallelujah choir, singing the praises of our new diet, was replaced by the songs of our siren stomachs, luring us with praises of forbidden food. Gradually, our written record of “baked potato with pad of butter and carrot sticks” for lunch simply became “potato” (as in chips). Mom and I couldn’t bring ourselves to write down the truth, the whole-bag-of-potato-chips truth and nothing-but-potato-chip truth. I couldn’t understand why it didn’t work. Mom and I did everything right. (Everything except pray and trust in God). We had measured everything, except why we were really doing this.
“All the ways of a man are pure in his own eyes; But the Lord weighs the spirits.”
—Proverbs 16:2
Our buzzphrase was, “When we get down to our right weight…” Of course, that must mean we were at our wrong weight. We tried, but eventually, chocolate cake, potato chips and French fries’ invitations were too strong.
They knew our names, and frequently sent us messages:
Chocolate cake kept in touch, “Come on, just one bite. Look how sweet I am.”
Potato chips were always friendly and social. “Look how crunchy and satisfying I am.”
And of course, the one that always worked with me…
(Any food whatsoever): “You’ll feel better with me. Honest. Come on. You knowI still love you.”
