Looking back on my posts in 2005, it is obvious I was obsessed with my weight. So many posts on whether I put on or lost a kilo. At the end of that year, though, I was actually at a weight I was satisfied with and then a windfall bout of food-poisoning resulted in me being thinner than ever at my wedding.
If you’re super-bored over the weekend, you can read some of those oldies:
This is a historic moment so I had to record it here.
This morning, the new cook came in and suggested making some gawdawful “green chicken”. To my credit, and proving that something good has happened to me in Hyderabad, I didn’t wrinkle up my nose and says yuck!, but blithely said, “ya ok”, while thinking what I could do to improve it. (Ok I’m slow getting to the point…which is NOT that I’ve become less fussy with food in Hyd…though it’s connected to it). I thought…Chapatis!
And then came the historical moment (drumroll please…!!!):
Mom says: “I’ll tell her to make chapatis without oil for you”.
I froze, stunned, my entire world collapsing. I have now reached a point of fat when your own mother, not only tells you you need to lose weight but provides you with oil-free chapatis to do so. Granted, mom has been commenting on my size, the size of my hips, paunch etc. But OIL-FREE chapatis…they’re a new high…or low…whichever way you chose to look at it.
My whole life, I’ve looked at the sad, wrinkly chapatis that my mom would eat and think, sigh, thank god I will never be there, smug in the conviction that since I have been the same size from std VIII to TYBA, with minimal increase in the years immediately following college, I would forever remain like that – having been fed these lies by some ‘friend’, probably in the hope that I would eat up and join her in the slugfest. But here I am, touching size 30, stomach careening wildly forward, burgeoning hips and double chin. This, calls for drastic measures.
And so I snapped out of my moment of dank horror, and said: “Yes, I’ll have the oil-free chapaits”.
Tomorrow, I will start a walk and abs, the day after I might go on a gym-hunt or a swim. But today, its oldies food. Whatever, it’s a start.
There are two ways to live…thin or fat. I chose thin.
I have been noticing, with horror I might add, that in the past year, while all my friends have managed to lose weight and are greeted with wonder-struck “god-you’ve-lost-weight”, I have piled on the pounds and am greeted with either shocked silence or outright smugness. Still, I’m happy for them and all that BUT WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME.
I have also realised that i cannot do anything without obsessing. This seems to be some sort of corollary to my declining mental state because I don’t think I was always like this. So, right now, my pet obsession is my weight. I used to smirk at my calorie-counting cousins but now I am one of them. I have begun to look down the menu for wheat-based food, skip desert and only drink water at restaurants. Yesterday, when a dinner plan was made, I actually tried (feebly, but still) to dissuade people on the grounds that we had just had a big dinner the night before and when that failed, I actually considered eating dinner at home and going out and having a soup…until i realised that the soup might be more fatty than anything else (not sure…before everyone boils over into a soup-hating frenzy).
In the end, I ate pita-bread and felt v.smug until i realised the creamy rich sauce might not be best thing. Still, I ate the lettuce parts too: there was once a time when I would have left all that for the rabbits. I skipped desert and had a sliver of someone’s chocolate mousse…I wanted a bite, but there was only a sliver left after everyone, who doesn’t need to lose weight or care, fell upon it.
I fear, though, that I may have undone all my good work, by having vodka and orange juice later. I’ve realised that cannot con self into thinking that orange juice is good for me unless freshly squeezed because the peel is the healthy part. Still, must be better than drinking cola, which is as good stuffing face with chocalate I hear.
PS: At the end of the day, if anything good come out of this (aka: dramatic weight loss, disappearance of paunch and the like), I will write an anti-Joan Harris (Chocolat)-Laura Esquivel (Like Water For Chocolate)-style novel on the relative joys of NOT-EATING-AND-NIBBLING. Actually, why not start now.
Weight And Watch
Yayyyy! I weighed myself today and I’ve lost a kilo and a half. I know its not much but I didn’t want to lose too much weight anyway. I was 55 when I came and now I’m 53-and-a-half. I ideally wanted to be 53…or maybe 50. I guess it never stops.
What’s wonderful is that I haven’t been doing much excercise due to my tooth extraction, but I guess neither have I been eating much. Still, it’s yummy to have lost weight.
Hmmmm…maybe I’ll celebrate with some chocolate.
24 hours later: Godddd I am now 54…what the hell. How did that happen? I was 53 for a whole day and seem to have put on a kilo in half a day. What crap.
Weight And Watch
So, first I must tell those who have been waiting with bated breath for news of my weight-loss programme, that yes – excercise and semi-starvation does pay off, especially when combined wth a bout of illness. Ok, it’s not that bad. But the diarrhoea and the flat tummy that I glimpsed at the end of it, gave me an inspiring vision of what I wanted to achieve.
And so, I put on my running shoes and strode forth into the morning to sweat out the calories. I quickly realised that because I had graduated to jogging while on holiday, simply walking was not going to cut it and so I began surreptiously breaking into a run in the more unpopulated bylanes. Ocassionally, I would spot a fellow jogger – all male – and I would be heartened that I was not the only ridiculous-looking person and if I was assaulted would be defended by these fellow-people-in-sweatpants. What gave me that impression I dunno, but it was a comforting one nonetheless. I must here report that though I did get my share of strange looks, they were not as many as I had thought they would be. Maybe because I started running earlier and earlier in the morning to avoid meeting anyone (aka 7 am-ish), because I picked, as I mentioned earlier, lonely roads, and because I was running, I passed would-be leerers too quickly for me to notice if they were leering. Once however, two guys on a motorcycle veered in my direction and hooted “Hey Sania!”. Whatever.
I coupled this with restricting myself to eating only thrice a day, avoiding rice and sweets, and even cutting down on tea because it contains sugar (!!!). This, and 80 stomach crunches a day apparently combined to give me a more compact shape because one day to my delight, I discovered that my beige capris which had been tightish around the ass when I bought them, were now LOOSE! You cannot imagine the feeling. It’s more euphoric that being in love. You walk around, loose capris swishing around your calves, you hiking them up because THEY’RE LOOSE AROUND THE WAIST TOO!!!
Ok, the downside is that I felt tired all the time, which I thought was a good thing because you need to be tired to survive this city. And then I fell sick. At which point, instead of being upset at being sick, I was actually thinking – “I hope I lose some weight”. Isn’t that, well, sick? But beleive me, you have to be obsessed when you’re battling the bulge.
Anyway, I’ve been weighing myself – I have to confess sometimes every two hours – on my cousin’s scale. The problem is that we know for a fact that that scale always shows your weight as 2 – 3 kg less. The problem is that we don’t know whether it’s two or three. And it’s so good to see your weight as less than 50, that even though you know that when you add the 2 or 3 you’re over 50, you don’t really want to. And you don’t want to find your 53 and not 52. Or if you do, it has to be on a totally reliable scale that leaves no room for doubt. Which we haven’t found yet.
Well, until yesterday. I was at the multiplex watching Mangal Pandey (god! Second worst movie ever watched I think) and there was this weighing machine – which calculated body mass index also. So, I got on it…sans slippers – and voila I am officiall 50.7 kg. Now I want to be 50…or maybe 49…or 48…so still have two kilos to lose…but I’m getting there.
Just thought I’d share that because I’m already paranoid that I am gaining weight because of lack of excercise during flu…But in case that happens…I did lose weight, it was not all in vain…and the fight will go on!!!
Weight Watch…Number 3/5 (not sure which)
Tummy has gone mad: both healthwise and superficially. For one, seem to have developed weird gastro thing where feel hungry half an hour after I’ve eaten, thereby psyching me into believing that I am hungry yet again. Luckily, I know that this is not real hunger but part of the deceptive and unnecessarily cruel disease, and so I ignore it. With result that I am all gassy…and ok, let’s not get into the gross details.
The other thing is that a few days ago, I hopped onto the scale like I do every day, against the better judgement of all diet gurus who say weigh yourself only once a week, and couldn’t believe my eyes because it said 42 kilos (ok, so this is the scale to which you have to add 2-3…not sure which, refer to earlier blog, kilos to the reading, but still). So kept squinting at the thing, and thinking how dirty it was…and had heady moment in which poor gullible me actually believed that a miracle had occurred by which I was at weight at which I could pig out on chocolate cake every day, and not care because even if I put on five kilos I would still be thin.
However, like all moments of pure joy, it was shortlived. I realised that it was so long since I had ever looked at the 40 reading on the scale (ok now that I’ve read it realise how weird it would be if I was 40 kilos) that I had no clue what it looked like and had somehow come to believe that the entire weight-universe was coagulated between 45 and 50+, which is the only weight range that has been relevant to me since my ordeal began. Anyway, apparently, what I was on this scale was 46…which means that for a fleeting half hour I was my ideal weight – not according to health handbooks which weirdly say for my height I should be between 50 and 55 – totally unreal, because then I would have
double chin and paunch and how would that be healthy?
Anyway, back to the real world where my tummy has begun bulging madly. I suspect it may be the gastro thing, but that does not matter because it sounds implausible and nobody would believe it and as Cultural Studies has taught us, there is no truth except what is created by consensus. Hmph! So, I have to attribute my tummy to what everyone else does – adipose tissue (as one profound Zen master is fond of saying). Also, most disturbingly, beige capris, which I had some time ago ranted, were loose are now dangerously close to being tight. Of course, I might be over-well-feeling, as if my hips, (after so many traumatic months of being snuggled too close to jeans that should have been discarded for a size bigger, but weren’t due to ego issues) had suddenly developed some extra-senses and even the slighted sign on material brushing against them made them clench in fright.
Have come to the conclusion that tummy is rather like pet dog. Training it is much like training a pet, and I’ve never seemed to be very good at that. Thus, I will firmly order it to lie flat and it won’t obey, but will wobble around annoyingly begging for food. Gah!
I wonder if I’m manic about my weight. For example, one very groggy morning stumbled to local shop after class and dug around in refrigerator for something to drink. Asked poised and mature friend, “Should I drink iced tea or Tropicana Orange Juice.” She said, “Tropicana.” Unfortunately, I happened to be scrutinizing the ingredients and burst out, “But it’s got 11 gm of sugar in it.” Entire shop turned to me and gaped.
But half of them were a weight I would so not want to be, so there!
Then yesterday, huffed back from uni at 9 pm and changed into tracks and went for walk. Then happened to get up this morning at 8 so made self go for walk again. With result that I am totally tired out. Probably because both walks were accompanied by 80 stomach crunches each, which means I’ve done 160 abs in 12 hours.
And to make matters worse, tummy misbehaving. First it feels upset, then hungry and then compels me to eat SIX butter chaklis, or should I says drink six butter chaklis. So, now I feel sicky and bloaty and god knows what else. And I’, going to drink this evening.