Waiting Out the Weight Issues

Almost overnight I have developed a fear of putting on weight. Please keep the sniggering to yourself. It’s not only supermodels and women who shove toothbrushes down their gullets post dining that fear getting on a bathroom scale.

Putting on weight is a sneaky business. Today you’re on the scale and all’s good, and the next day kids are fighting for their turn to ride on your back while mimicking elephant sounds.

Here’s the thing with diets, one slip up and you’re ruined. There are those skinny bastards who frown and scratch their heads at the mention of dieting, so for those individuals with the semblance of a worn-out broom, here’s what I mean.

A few weeks ago I started a new job. It’s one of those jobs that make you run around a lot and tons of sweating is involved. I didn’t realise it then but the heavy work and constant running around allowed me to shed a pound. Actually 15. Imagine the joy of losing weight without actually dieting.

Easy enough, I thought. I will just carry on doing whatever it is I’m doing and the weight will just fall off. Sounds logical to me anyway.

As is the case with most people who are gradually losing weight, I wanted to double the amount I lost and do it in even less time. So I started eating grapes. I have heard that the grape diet is not only good for you but also makes you lose weight like Oscar Pistorius in the presence of Gerrie Nel.

It worked. To speed up the process even more I cut out all soft drinks and anything that contains sugar. Then meat had to go, but the chicken could stay. The weight was melting off but so was my trust of food. Eventually I started giving lettuce and beetroot the suspicious eye and accusing it of harbouring fats.

After another few days I found myself sitting in the corner of the kitchen staring at the fridge. I felt too guilty to even open it. Beyond the white door and the habitual squeak lay heaven; but the slightest motion towards it would allow guilt to consume me. Eating anything at this stage induces herculean bouts of shame. So I figured if I lay beneath the kitchen counter and the house keeper accidentally wipes crumbs off the table and they happen to land in my trap, then it could not be construed as deliberate eating. We’ll call it an accidental case of crumbs being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

When on a diet one tends to balance rather precariously on the edge. Well, I fell right off the fucking cliff, to put it bluntly. My moment of weakness possessed me completely. The error was going to the fridge to fetch a diet-yoghurt in the early morning hours. My ability to make sound judgements at this time is usually poor and therefore I landed up grabbing the peach flavour, along with the margarine, pesto spread, sliced ham, a packet of chips from the cupboard, some chicken pieces the rest had eaten, and whatever else I could consume without spewing. I hadn’t eaten that well in almost two months. Ergo I ate not until I was full but until my arms grew tired. And that carried on for some time as well, taking me back to my former plump self weighing in at an impressive three digit number.

Although I do not plan on staying this way, I have not yet mustered up the courage (read: delusion) to have another go at this pound-shedding shit. My past experiences dictate that its returns is not that far away and that history will repeat itself as it always does. Though, for now, let’s tuck into a double cheese burger and fries. Make it two.