The 220-lb. Gorilla

I don’t know why I’m writing about this. This seems to me to be a fairly radical departure from where I’d like this blog to go. But the subject’s on my mind, and I think writing about it will help me codify certain behaviors, and maybe understand them. They say naming the problem is the first part of the solution. That’s always the way it’s been in fantasy novels. Once you have the evil wizard’s true name, he’s in your power. I don’t think that’s an accident, although it’s surely a subconscious trope for the most part. But only when we understand something can we defeat it.

So to begin with, when I was walking to the train tonight, I had a somewhat frightening thought:

Alcohol is not one of my vices.

Sure, I’ll have a few too many drinks every now and then, and I’ll make a fool of myself and on occasion, get messy about it. But those nights are fewer and fewer, and the cleaning bills are farther and farther between. Which is all well and good, if something hadn’t stepped up to the plate and taken the place I always expected booze to be.

God, I love to eat.

Now, there are a number of reasons for this. First of all, much of the world is tasty. No sense missing out.

Second, I’m always curious about what things taste like. Everything I see on a table, I want to try. I crave what I see. This can be bad news.

Third, sometimes I eat because I’m unhappy with myself. This is a vicious circle, I know. I won’t be happy with myself if I keep eating, I know that. If I’m trying to lose weight, and I fall off the wagon, like I did last night, I get pissed off and crabby and take it out on Kathy a little and myself a lot.

Here’s what happened last night. Things were going well on the whole Body-for-Life multiple small meals thing. I had small meal number 3 at around 3:30. By the time I got home a little after 6, I was hungry, and due for another. There wasn’t time to eat anything decent, and I didn’t have the foresight to grab a B4L bar – besides, we were going to my nephew Billy’s confirmation, and if I decided to take communion, I shouldn’t eat beforehand.

Well, we got there around quarter of 7. My sister-in-law Carolyn had saved seats for us – in the back row of the balcony. We couldn’t really see much of anything but the choir, which sang and sang and sang.

Well, the service lasted until 9:30 or so. Sis-in-law Sue described it as “beautiful.” I’m not one to judge; those are the words of someone who has had dinner.

(I didn’t take communion, by the way. By the time it came around to me, I was questioning my motivations – did I want to take part in the ceremony, or did I just want a snack? I erred on the side of caution.)

Now, there was a reception in the church basement. I expected some cookies, some white sheet cake. I was hungry – very hungry – but figured I could probably keep away from them. I did suggest that we skip out and go to a diner instead, where we could get something relatively balanced, but it’s good to spending time with family—that’s why we were there, after all—and I wasn’t going to put up a fuss about it.

Well, the spread was awesome. Lots of different cakes, cinnamon buns, croissaints, fruit and dip, tons of other stuff. I stayed away from it for a while – had water instead of punch – but soon enough, I’d put a few different things on my plate, not all of them strawberries. Understand, I was really hungry, and surrounded by food. I had no idea that God would be holding us hostage upstairs for so long.

I ate them. They tasted good. I felt miserable. It started pouring outside. Kathy and I eventually got home, where I could finally have the chicken dinner I was dreaming of. Dessert wouldn’t do.

Okay, that’s all well and good. But then, we watched the Daily Show (it was 11:00 by dinnertime) and then I had a letter to write on the computer. Kathy went to bed.

I didn’t.

It didn’t take long to finish the letter, but I didn’t go to sleep. I’d already decided I wouldn’t go to the gym in the morning – a self-defeating decision that I could either make at night or when hitting the snooze alarm. But I stayed up. I checked blogs, news sites, message boards, I was falling asleep at the computer, and I couldn’t bring myself to go to bed. I don’t really know why that is. Maybe bed is for people who actually accomplish something. Maybe I wanted to burn off a few more calories by sitting upright, I don’t know. But, I drifted in and out on the computer until I finally packed it in and went to bed. Late.

After a few hours sleep, a shower and a nap on the train, I got to work, where I was foggyheaded, paranoid and miserable. Time crawled. I walked in to an office to get a donut once, but they were gone, thankfully. And now, as I write this, I’m on the train, on my way home.

I’ve eaten the right things so far today, and I hope to continue tonight. Tomorrow is a B4L free day, and I’ll take advantage of it. Not doing it because I don’t “deserve it” will probably do more harm than good, and give me an excuse to cheat all next week.

But man, it’s amazing how many bad decisions I can make because I pick up a fucking cinnamon bun in a church basement.

Rob

ADDENDUM: Since I wrote this, Kathy & I had a very good dinner at Afghan Kebab House #7 in Metuchen. We each saved half of our dinners for later. Even though I probably had a bit more than what the B4L gurus would recommend, it’s the control that counts.