BFF (maybe)

BEST FRIENDS FOREVER (MAYBE)

I love food.  Dearly.  For many (too many) of my younger years I starved myself brutally for the sake of body image until an indescribably low point in my life turned me to food for solace and I found out how deeply soothing food can be.  Food went from mortal ever-taunting enemy to BFF.  I made the connection between my perpetual exhaustion, nervousness, usual bad mood and hunger.  I wasn’t a weak-assed jerk; I just needed a sandwich! 

My intense reaction to food is fodder for humour among those who know me best.  It is well known that after a hearty meal you could easily talk me into helping you paint your house.  If you really want something darling, feed me first.  (Yes, I am in a committed relationship now.  Sorry guys.)  After the last guy fed me for a while I raised his children for ten years.  What can I say?  His specialty is prime rib.

Okay, so fourteen years now of being fed by Prime Rib Man has led to the need to re-evaluate my relationship with my BFF (food) if we want to avoid a drastic parting of the ways.  Every year I’ve had to buy new clothes to allow us to live comfortably together but this year I’ve reached a limit.  Any further clothing concessions would mean crossing that department store aisle into The Big Girls side of the clothing department, and it’s a line I’m not willing to cross, even for an old friend. 

I promise you it’s not about looks.  I know many large and luscious women who are beautiful and happy.  This is about sheer stupidity in my circumstances.  It’s about my health and about what it feels like to be in my body.  I used to have a bounce in my step; now I have to concentrate on not dragging my feet like some irritating mannerless teenager.  I just about stroke out climbing up stairs.  When I walk to the grocery store people pass me on their way to the store and pass me on their way back with a bag or two before I even get there.  Is that slow?  Guess what?  I’m only 42. 

I wear ‘regular’ size clothing, but while my clinical ideal weight for my height is 120 lbs., though I look best and am most comfortable at 135 lbs., I’m 50 lbs. off ‘comfortable’ mark.  Yes, wow.  Let me put it to you this way: next time you’re at the grocery store pick up a 20lb frozen turkey and put it in your backpack.  Heavy?  You betcha.  Now stuff another 20lb turkey in another  backpack and hang that on the front of you.  On your way down through the vegetable section grab two 5lb bags of potatoes, one for under each arm and carry all that around everywhere you go all day, all the time, at home and around town. 

If you did would that make you a glutton for punishment?  A fool?  Would it be sheer idiocy?  I’ve been carrying around two 20lb frozen turkeys and two 5lb bags of potatoes for three years now.  I don’t want to have to do it anymore.

I’m not buying into the cry and hue of the typical New Year’s advertising to “Lose Weight and Get Fit!” I’m remembering the epiphany I had last night when I grabbed the new bag of dog food Prime Rib Man bought last night and did my best to lift it up to pour some food into the dog dishes.  I barely got it off the ground because it was too heavy for me to handle and damn near hurt myself trying.  I was shocked to see that it only weighed 28lbs.  I sat and mused long and hard about what in the holy hell I’m doing (supposedly) sanely carrying around an extra 50lbs of chow on my body.

Kirsten