The Non-Diet, Part One

Okay, okay! I admit it! I have fallen back into the journal versus blogger trap. You know what I mean; a blog is an unedited, navel gazing, spit-out-what's-on-your-mind stream of consciousness, and the journal is generally made up of a series of prettied up, clever phrase sprinkled posts. The journal is the Elizabeth Bennet version of the Internet, where one is unwilling to speak, unless it is to amaze the world. You have read Pride and Prejudice, no? Really? Oh, it’s sooooo good! I’ll suggest it for my book club’s next project.

Trapped or not, blogger or journal-er, be that as it may, I am also aware (thanks Yellow Wallpaper!) that I am back to posting once a week. Now not intending to resemble the sex life of a couple who have been married for thirty years, I am determined to get back to the three times a week as a general rule posting schedule. With that commitment in mind – here is the first of a series I shall entitle – the Non-Diet.

The Non-Diet, Part One and a Half.

If you have been following my fun fun fun life for a little while, either on line or in the flesh, you will know I have a teensy weensy problem with obsessive eating and my self-image. Basically, on good days I think I am pretty and youthful and pretty youthful and as stylish as a mother of toddlers who insist on still nursing can be. On bad days, grump grump, I look in the mirror and see a gigantic moose, wearing a ratty tee shirt. As a general rule I avoid the mirror, unless it’s to perform an eyebrow operation (my brows are another teensy weensy obsession) or to fix my Eton-cropped hair.

Just today, as the boys napped, I beat the heat by hiding indoors. I saw the film Super Size Me; that documentary by the fella who eats at McDonald’s every day for a month, gains 20 pounds and almost has liver failure. It got me thinking about diets and exercise and all that. You might recall a post from March about a French book I read that recommended moderation, and outlined how that is the key to successful dieting. Well, for my birthday a good friend gave me two books about compulsive eating and body image obsessions and how diets can be fingered as culprit for these problems.

Hmmmmmm! I have one book that extols gentle dieting and mild delusionary tactics as the French way to thinness and happiness. I have another book that praises a woman’s decision not to diet at all and outlines how to love you for you and how to be happy however you look. I am trying to find what will work best for me. I do love love love to eat, and I really like to cook. Actually, right now there is a batch of croissant dough on my kitchen counter, growing and thriving like a live thing. I like fine foods and interesting meals and good drinks and champagne, and I also love to work out. I jog and I love my spinning classes and I really do think lifting weights is fun, so I am not concerned about getting enough exercise.

But I am concerned about the way I see myself. Some days I simply hate the way I look and some days I think my body and my style are totally fine. Other days I see my tiger flap, and just want to cry. My spin instructor, my gorgeous friend and the co-founder of our Double Entendre Club, says that I am losing weight and getting fitter. But I really don’t see it at all.

My logical brain tells me it’s all in my mind's eyes, and can not a reality in the mirror. I mean, it’s simply impossible to gain or lose forty pounds overnight. But honestly, that's how I feel. I come home from spinning or running or lifting, go to bed feeling light and happy and wake up feeling globular and grotesque. That's not weight gain, right?

I am going to re-read the books I was given and the French eat-your-croissants-in-moderation book too. I am going to take notes and pay attention to how I feel. I am going to pay more attention to ME and not let myself get swept aside by my precious pumpkins. I’ll let you know what conclusions I draw, or paint, or sketch. I might draw a blank, but I’ll keep you posted.

Get it? Draw or paint a conclusion?! Just a little play on words for y'all. Obessive compulsive disorder and body image distortion notwithstanding, I do make myself chuckle…