The Diet Of 1991
The next morning when I woke up, what had happened with Mike the night before came crashing into my memory. How could I be such an idiot? If I could only take it back, erase the humiliation from my memory and forget it ever happened. I could remember saying that to myself at least a hundred times before, wanting badly to forget the mortifying feeling that seemed to follow me everywhere, like an inexorable cloud. Something was different this time. I had reached my so-called limit.
I got dressed, and without even saying good morning to my parents, got in my car and took a drive. With the windows down, music blaring, and thirty miles over the speed limit, I raced down Ridge Road, crying harder than I ever cried before. I felt dead inside, just wanting to give up and call it quits, leave this life, my past, all of it behind. I gasped for breaths as I hit the steering wheel over and over, recklessly, until my hand throbbed.
“God, why? What have I ever done to deserve this! What! I can’t do this anymore! I can’t!” I cried in between short, desperate breaths.
I pulled into Wegman’s parking lot, turned off the car, and tried to catch my breath. Tears finally stopped flowing out of my bloodshot eyes as I sat there staring out towards a stray grocery cart. Isolated and alone, at the farthest stretch of the parking lot, it stood in the middle of nowhere, all by itself. That cart symbolized everything I felt and everything I was.
Images of my past flashed through my mind, like sitting Indian style by myself on the gymnasium floor, trying not to reveal how sad and I was when teams were being picked in gym class and I was the last one, the one no one wanted. Or how at family reunions, I’d sit inside by myself, feeling too uncomfortable to talk, too embarrassed. It’s funny how something as insignificant as a shopping cart can put things in such lucid perspective.
I knew I had to do something, go on a diet and become somebody else, anything. I couldn’t take another day in my skin, pretending, lying to myself that everything was fine. Everything was so far from fine, I’m not even sure I knew what fine meant anymore. Happiness for me had always been a slice of pizza and a bag of chips, but something told me there must be more. This can’t be it. My heart sank and my eyes filled with tears again. Ahead of me I saw months of agony and struggle, even the possibility of defeat. I was scared to death. The true test was about to begin. Could I do this? Could I resist eating, face my demons and who I really was head-on instead of running from them, devouring them.
I started to ponder the possibilities. What if I could lose eighty pounds? I could go on dates! I could wear a bathing suit without a shirt. I could order food without feeling guilty or self-conscious. I could go places and not be looked at like I’m nauseating. I had already reached the bottom, up was the only direction I could go. I had nothing to lose.
Just like that something broke inside. Something freed me from my desperation, leaving me feeling good and actually happy. “I’m going to do this.” I said out loud. I believed it. I knew then and there I would never be this heavy or damaged again. I turned on the car, turned off the radio, and drove back home.
“Hi, sweetheart. Do you want me to make you something to eat?” My mom asked, handing my brother a cheeseburger.
“No thanks, Mom.” I announced, “I’m going on a diet”
“It’s about time,” my brother added as my dad tried to conceal his laughter behind his newspaper.
“Shut up, Chuck, I’m serious”
“Yeah, okay.”
“I think that’s great!” Mom nodded.
Dad added, “Sure, sweetheart, you can do anything you put your mind to.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I felt good that he believed in me.
I looked at my brother’s plate. The melted cheese oozed out, smothering the juicy peace of meat.
“Yum, this cheeseburger sure is good.” My brother teased, wiping the cheese from the corner of his mouth. I knew he didn’t think I was capable of losing weight. Part of me wanted to prove him wrong just for spite.
I sighed, knowing this was going to be harder than I thought. For a moment I thought, Maybe I should get myself psyched up for it and start my diet tomorrow. Then I thought, I’ve said that a thousand times and it never works. It’s now or never.
I grabbed a can of vegetarian soup.
“Mom, can you buy some more of this when you go shopping?”
She smiled and looked at my dad, who was looking over his glasses with a grin. “Sure, honey. I’ll go to the store tonight if you want me to.”
Hours later I looked at my watch. It’s only five o’clock, I thought, fighting the overwhelming urge to head towards the refrigerator. There was absolutely nothing to do. Everything I ever did revolved around food. In the past when I’d go on a diet I would reason with logic. I used to think if I only had half a bag of chips instead of the whole one, I’d still be cutting my daily intake of calories in half. My diets never worked because I always managed to reason myself out of dieting all together. I’d gain back all the weight I had lost plus some.
Other times I would work out full force making a conscious effort to diet, eating only vegetables and fruits. After about five days and no dramatic change I would get discouraged that I wasn’t losing weight fast enough and give up. For the first time I was willing to accept the fact it wasn’t going to be easy to conquer my lifelong struggle.
Suddenly, the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Hey, what’s up Elaine?”
“Hi Brian.”
“I thought you were coming over last night.”
“I’m sorry. I just wasn’t feeling too good.” I replied. Immediately the image of Mike’s face, agonizing in pain at the sight of my legs made my empty stomach turn.
“Come over.”
“Bye.”
After we hung up I felt at ease. I didn’t have Mike, but I would always have a friend in Brian. I realized my love for Brian was just a fantasy, something unobtainable, an inspiration I conjured up in my mind to give me hope. But it did just that; it gave me hope. Realistically I knew that unless I went on an extreme diet, lost mega pounds, and ended up looking like Cindy Crawford, we’d never be more than friends.
Later that night I paid Brian a visit. As I started to knock the door opened, as if he was waiting for me and he walked outside to smoke.
“Now, what is going on with you? Is there anything you need to tell me?” Brian asked, smiling as he took a drag of his Winston.
“Like what?” I asked, pretending that I didn’t know he was inquiring about Pete and our steamy make-out session.
“You know what I’m talking about. What happened with Pete? Let’s have it. Seriously.” He said.
“Fine. The other day I went to his house looking for you. Pete was the only one home and we started talking and drinking. Next thing I know, we’re making out on the couch. Then when he started to unbutton my shirt I stopped him, he made spaghetti, and I left as if nothing had happened.”
“Hah! Is that it?” Brian asked excitedly.
“That’s the whole story.”
“Elaine, I can’t believe it.” Brian started to snicker. “I mean I do, but it’s funny. I always joke around with Pete saying, “You want Elaine.” and he always says that he would never touch you in a million years, and now this. And nothing else happened?”
“No. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but nothing else happened.”
Brian looked upset. “All right, Elaine, I’ll talk to you later,” he announced, opening his screen door.
“Brian, there’s just one more thing I want to tell you.” I paused, finding it hard to look him in the eyes. “I’m going on a diet.”
He let the screen door go and walked back outside. A cool breeze flowed in the brisk night air, giving me shivers. I knew Brian was going to tell everybody we knew I was on a diet. If I didn’t lose the weight, I would be letting everyone down. I could feel the pressure, but a part of me was glad Brian now knew, like I couldn’t turn back now.
“Why?” Brian said.
“Why do you think, Brian?” I whispered almost shamefully. “C’mon. You know I’m fat. Everyone else knows it too. In fact, they say it when they don’t think I can hear them, but I can. I’m sick of having my feelings hurt by someone who doesn’t like to look at me. I hate who I am. I’m a fucking doormat. I feel like a hyper-vigilant walking through a minefield. With every step I take I’m wondering where the next fat joke is going to come from. I know its coming, the only question is when. Brian, if you think for a second that being overweight in this world doesn’t suck, you’re dead wrong.”
Brian looked at my mouth, now trembling and then put his arm around me. “You know what would be really funny, Elaine?”
I shook my head, looking down at his tattered old Nike’s.
“How much do you want to lose?” Brian asked.
“Eighty pounds.”
“Okay. Say you lose the eighty pounds and become drop dead gorgeous. Everyone will want to date you, screw you, whatever. Okay.” I chuckled. “Don’t laugh. I’m serious. Now, you’re alone with Pete in this room. You come onto him, and tell him you want him. You get him all turned on, and just as he’s about to make his move, you ask, “Do you want me”? Of course he’ll say yes. Then, you say, “Too bad you said you wouldn’t touch me in a million years,” and walk out. That would be awesome!”
Brian’s excitement now excited me.
“I should.”
“Yeah, you should. You can do it, Elaine. Go for it.”
“I’m going to, Brian. I can do this.”
His face turned serious again. “I know you are.”
His expression was solemn and grim. At that moment, Brian showed me a side to him he rarely showed, the compassionate one. We hugged goodbye and I headed for home. I felt a sense of determination as I drove home, like maybe my dreams weren’t just unobtainable fantasies, maybe they really were possible.
Morning came. I arose refreshed for a change, instead of the I-need-more-sleep feeling I usually had. Considering the fact I was making a life change, I felt it only right to start by cleaning my already immaculate closet. Taking all the clothes off the hangers, which hung exactly the same distance apart, I frantically threw them on my bed. I sorted through them, deciding which ones to keep, and which ones to save as a reminder of who I was once my diet was over.
What a bitter reminder of what I had become! Pants I had bought three years ago were five sizes too small. I held up a pair of blue jeans with an elastic waste, barely able to believe how big they were. They looked more like a tent than something I’d wear. How could I let myself get like this? I thought. But this time, I was the one with the look of disgust on my face. I couldn’t believe my body was so big that it filled every ounce of space those pants had to offer. Worse yet, they were even tight!
My diet had just begun, yet already I was discouraged. I knew crying wasn’t going to help me lose weight. No longer could I wallow in self-pity. Better times were ahead. Though I had no clue as to whether I could really succeed on this diet, I truly felt by the same time next year, I’d be finding out.
