[img]396|left|Your body at 40 is not the same as it was at 20. Or even 30. I’m not kidding. I’m not trying to be a wiseguy, either. I just wanted to let you know, because I didn’t know. If I didn’t know, maybe you didn’t, either. Did you?
I’ve always been small—small frame, small bones, petite, short, little, choose an adjective. When I was a child, I’d pick at my food. “She eats like a bird!” my grandmother would lament every Thanksgiving. I didn’t think that birds would like her turnips, either. If I picked at them like a bird, so be it. Cheep cheep.
When I was in my 20’s, I had grown to my full height, 5’1”, and my weight was a nice, round number: 100 pounds. I stayed that way for many years, and I thought that’s the way it was. I never, ever thought about my weight. When my friends in high school and college talked about diets and feeling fat, I couldn’t relate. I was so happy that I liked the way I looked. My friends seemed miserable; too bad for them!
Weighing My Options
When I was 33, I weighed about 108 pounds. That was the year I went to Japan to teach English. I had diarrhea every day for the first month I was there, due to stress and culture shock. I didn’t eat much, because I am not a particular fan of Japanese food. At the end of the year, I tipped the scales at 98 pounds. I looked a little emaciated, but I didn’t really think about it that much. At least I still had the little belly I’d always had.
The first time I thought about my weight was a few years later. I had two pairs of shorts that were exactly the same, only different colors. Every summer I’d take out my shorts and be so proud, because I’d had them for so many years and they still looked new.
One year, about age 36, I took out the shorts and put them on. They didn’t button. The button didn’t even come close to the buttonhole. I wondered if they had shrunk in the wash, that’s how unaware I was. I tried them on again and again all summer, and finally came to the conclusion that my waistline had gotten bigger. Wow.
I began to notice it with other clothes in the years that followed. I would no longer be shopping in the junior department. I gave all my cute “little” clothes to my skinny cousin, who resembles a Barbie doll.
Two years ago, at age 39, I noticed this “thing” around my middle. It seemed that my little belly had expanded, and had grown all the way around my waist! At my annual checkup, I grabbed my “spare tire” and showed the doctor. “I’d like to know what this is and how to get rid of it, please.” I said. She looked at me with pity and explained that as we age, our metabolism slows down and we can’t eat the way we used to without gaining weight, and it’s much harder to take off. She told me to exercise and have sweets as a treat only.
I read an article that said you should weigh yourself daily. I did, and do, and that’s how I know that in two years I’ve gone from 108 pounds to 114, even after cutting down on sweets (a little) and going to the gym (sort of). Now, before you go and rant about how you would kill to be 114 pounds, and what am I complaining about, I want you to remember that it’s all relative. I felt better at 105 pounds; heck, even 108, and back then I didn’t have this little “friend” that rolls over the top of my jeans when I sit down. Sure, I’m nice to it, I pat it and talk to it sometimes. Whenever I can, though, I pinch it and thrust it at my friends, imploring them to help me get rid of it once and for all! Go say hi to my cousin Barbie. Leave me alone!
My Dream Diet
I’m going back to the gym in July. In desperation, I’m also going to try the South Beach Diet. For the next two weeks, I won’t be eating any bread, pasta or sugar. Ask me what, if I were stranded on a desert island, I would have to eat if I could have three things. I would say macaroni and cheese, challah (bread), and tea with milk and sugar. You’re supposed to break your “addictions” in the first two weeks, and slowly introduce healthy whole grains and fruits back into your diet.
Perhaps I’ll keep a journal of my first two weeks on South Beach and publish it here for your amusement. If it works, I won’t crave muffins or pizza anymore. If it doesn’t, I may move to a different state, the state of denial. I’ll keep you posted.
Ms. Campbell may be contacted at campbellalexandra@hotmail.com
