THE JOURNEY CONTINUES
It started around
Thanksgiving 2019.
We went out
to an upscale seafood holiday buffet at a waterfront restaurant.
Overweight
almost all my life (well, since 3rd grade, but that’s almost a half
century ago), I went hog wild.
Oh, the
grilled finfish and chilled shellfish might have actually been decent choices.
But
somewhere along the way -- gumbo with rice, starchy side dishes, breaded crab
cakes, fried fish, sauces, butters, sodas and too many dessert bar trips to
count – I did what I always do: eat like a starving man.
And when we
got home, I didn’t even feel bad.
This became
such a routine, that I didn’t feel like I had a half dozen portions of full
meals – in one body.
I think just
about every one of us loves food.
We crave fat
and sugar.
Back when
there wasn’t a drive-through on every corner and a snack count at every convenience
store and gas station, we had to work all day for a meal – so if we gobbled
down a bit much, it was burned off.
For me, food
has a magical quality.
I fell under
its spell like a person with substance abuse issues chases the high from heroin,
meth or hard liquor.
Have a
miserable day. Boss tore into your over nothing? Parents 1,000 miles away not
speaking to your over a trivial issue? Treated your spouse poorly and raking
yourself over the coals trying to figure out not only how to apologize, but
also how to stop yourself from repeating bad behavior?
Eat a half a
giant pizza, down a whole bag of chips, eat a third of a pie, down 6 pieces of
fried fish drowned in tartar and accompanied with a mountain of French fries.
But food
also was a way of patting myself on the back, of making sure the warm feeling
of success felt like a zillion calories inside an ever-expanding tummy.
So a family
sized serving of whipped potatoes in butter, a half a box of gourmet chocolate,
a PBJ on artisanal bread with Jif and high fructose jelly spread thick as an
inch – those were the way to do a victory lap, to celebrate the front page
story, the closed deal with a creative client, the first day in Europe on
vacation with my wife.
While I had
to (or should have learned to) own this behavior for a third of a century of
being an adult – I did not.
It took me decades
and decades to realize that even if I didn’t care about my appearance “because
hell, I was not male model or movie star,” that I was risking my health.
(more on my
healthy lifestyle journey next blog post – February 28)