In August my doctor told me that I need to lower my cholesterol and that I’m the o-word, as in obese. (Snarky but true, she looked to be in the o-category herself, but that’s her problem, not mine.) How’s that for an annual; at least I didn’t hear the c-word, God-forbid, but I felt a bitter mix of disappointment, surprise, and embarrassment at what I had done to myself. I can lay blame on circumstances (and I will) but my mouth and my eating habits and exercise habits are my own.
The toll of the divorce made its mark on my pant’s size. Way back when I had been an 8, then, after the girls it got up to 10, and over the course of so much dissatisfaction I was on the border of the Women’s Department—one more number and I was there.
And even Kenny, the vegetarian, helped me ever so slightly, what with my desire to tantalize him with the creamy mac and cheeses and quiches I could concoct just for him and his need for protein.
But no more. I was a good girl. No butter. No oil. No yolks. No regular ice cream. No potato chips. I told myself—and I believed it—that I had already had enough of those wondrous home style potato chips and creamy custards any way. And I had frozen fruit desserts. And lots of salads—with only balsamic vinegar drizzled on top. And even on vacation I cut the cheeses and the desserts. A true testament: in Key West I made a slice of Key Lime pie last for two nights.
And I really did join a gym that afternoon—it was not said just to placate a concerned doctor. I don’t go enough, but I make it once a week (except for two weeks ago). I’m even starting to look at myself in the mirror when I get changed.
And it worked. This afternoon I am going to get a pair of size 10 pants because my size 14s are so baggy it looks like the 80s are back and even the size 12s look too mommy jeansy for me. And the cholesterol? The doctor had this to say after my recent blood test: “You have done a good job, keep up the good work.” And I will.
Last year when I was in San Francisco I barely made it up the hills; this year, I made it up and then up some more without ten-minute breaks to observe the breath-taking views.
As the Divine Bette Midler sang: “I Look Good.”
And I feel like myself once again.