9 pm, 21 October, 2015
The bitter half looks at the pathologist’s report and frowns at me. A rather difficult feat to be simultaneously looking at one thing and frowning at another, but he accomplishes it with an ease born of several years of practice. “It’s exactly as I thought! Your parameters are all wrong. Very wrong!” he pronounces in a grave baritone. “Only years of wilful neglect of good eating habits and a complete disregard for physical fitness could have led to this. As one sows, so shall one reap,” he aphorizes.
Attempting ballistic self-defense, I hurl myself into a persuasive monologue about metabolic and hormonal discrimination against 54 year olds and genetic predisposition which is only another word for cosmic karma that no woman worth her estrogen should even attempt to resist. And what if the Path Lab’s got me mixed up with someone who loves eating out and hates all things non sedentary and is master procrastinator of diet resolutions and doesn’t ever listen to her doctor’s sage advice just because that doctor’s her husband? A fat lot of good such a report would do me, wouldn’t it?
I am met with a dangerous glint in the eye that tells me that an armistice is really my only recourse - for now. “Well, I know you think I’m a junk foodie’s patron saint, and I may (a few score times, not more!) have done one lazy saunter round the jogging track and said I’d run five, and I might have enrolled for Yoga classes (six times at last count) and found reasons not to go (ever!), but that is all in the past. My internal audit has opened my eyes, and I now view myself in new light. I have high tea, a brunch, a school reunion lunch, and a barbecue evening lined up this week, but I am completely determined to start practicing austerity six days hence.”
Nonverbal communication reaches its zenith of accomplishment as an unrelenting set of the jaw complements the glint in the eye. “Oh, alright! Alright! Have it your way! Starting today,” I proclaim, “I shall starve myself to death and simultaneously exercise hard enough to be reduced to a skeleton – an exhausted one at that! If the diet and the exercise kill me, I won’t have to worry about cholesterol and its likes anymore, will I? Happy?”
“Absolutely!” says the good doctor. “I’m glad you’re being so reasonable. Here’s an excellent diet and exercise regimen you can begin to follow starting this instant.” He flourishes a paper in front of my eyes, and I quail when I see a listing of sprouts, boiled veggies, greens, soups, and fruits that wouldn’t nourish an infant for an hour. “No sugar, refined flour, or fats. I also recommend that you have an early start to your day, as early as 6 am perhaps, enjoy a brisk walk for 30 minutes and, for starters, choose between swimming and yoga for another 30 minutes. Don’t worry, you can work out even longer over weekends,” he says encouragingly.
A debilitating weakness of sorts begins to engulf me as I envision a dreary future blighted by a horribly healthy lifestyle. Would his brutal behavior hold in a court of law as evidence of domestic violence? Could I call a family council and garner support from like minded members of the female fraternity? Oh, there must be some escape! It tires me out to even think about the ordeal ahead and the tactics I must employ to survive it. It’s best to let sleep take over and to put off strategizing till the next morning. After all, things don’t seem quite so bleak when the sun’s nicely up, and Vitamin D is good for the grey cells, they say.
Another day…..
I come back from a long invigorating brisk walk that’s lasted more than an hour. I have outpaced most other walkers, and my face is suffused with the glow that comes from good health as I enter my home and hearth, a spring in my step. After a nourishing breakfast of carrot juice and half a bowl of sprouts, it’s time to read the morning papers in that special place on the terrace that gives me just the right amount of sun. My friend calls and asks if we can have a Thai luncheon at an art café, but I decline politely, masking my wonderment about people who know how to count but never measure their calories.
This weekend, I absolutely must shop for new outfits. It really is a bother looking slim and svelte the way I do; it means having to buy an entirely new wardrobe with small sized clothes that only mannequins can slink into.
My better half brings home my blood report from the vampire lab. Every single parameter looks so good he can’t help smiling with joyful pride. The prodigal has returned. I smile back at him, but not for too long. My treadmill yearns to be treaded on and my happiness lies in the calorie deficit I hope to see at the end of a beautifully grueling session. I haven’t the time to celebrate mundane successes when larger victories like an hourglass figure and the healthiest internal systems in the world await me.
6 am, 22 October, 2015
The alarm on my phone trills melodiously, and I wake up, the remnants of a smile the evidence of a beautiful dream. My smile freezes and then wilts into nothingness when I hark back on the conversation with the good doctor the evening before. Truth stares me in the face. A stark day replete with hard labor and a starvation diet beckons. I succumb to the inevitable. What must be done must be done. So……I turn off the alarm, dunk my head under the pillow and promptly go back to sleep.
Attempting ballistic self-defense, I hurl myself into a persuasive monologue about metabolic and hormonal discrimination against 54 year olds and genetic predisposition which is only another word for cosmic karma that no woman worth her estrogen should even attempt to resist. And what if the Path Lab’s got me mixed up with someone who loves eating out and hates all things non sedentary and is master procrastinator of diet resolutions and doesn’t ever listen to her doctor’s sage advice just because that doctor’s her husband? A fat lot of good such a report would do me, wouldn’t it?
I am met with a dangerous glint in the eye that tells me that an armistice is really my only recourse - for now. “Well, I know you think I’m a junk foodie’s patron saint, and I may (a few score times, not more!) have done one lazy saunter round the jogging track and said I’d run five, and I might have enrolled for Yoga classes (six times at last count) and found reasons not to go (ever!), but that is all in the past. My internal audit has opened my eyes, and I now view myself in new light. I have high tea, a brunch, a school reunion lunch, and a barbecue evening lined up this week, but I am completely determined to start practicing austerity six days hence.”
Nonverbal communication reaches its zenith of accomplishment as an unrelenting set of the jaw complements the glint in the eye. “Oh, alright! Alright! Have it your way! Starting today,” I proclaim, “I shall starve myself to death and simultaneously exercise hard enough to be reduced to a skeleton – an exhausted one at that! If the diet and the exercise kill me, I won’t have to worry about cholesterol and its likes anymore, will I? Happy?”
“Absolutely!” says the good doctor. “I’m glad you’re being so reasonable. Here’s an excellent diet and exercise regimen you can begin to follow starting this instant.” He flourishes a paper in front of my eyes, and I quail when I see a listing of sprouts, boiled veggies, greens, soups, and fruits that wouldn’t nourish an infant for an hour. “No sugar, refined flour, or fats. I also recommend that you have an early start to your day, as early as 6 am perhaps, enjoy a brisk walk for 30 minutes and, for starters, choose between swimming and yoga for another 30 minutes. Don’t worry, you can work out even longer over weekends,” he says encouragingly.
A debilitating weakness of sorts begins to engulf me as I envision a dreary future blighted by a horribly healthy lifestyle. Would his brutal behavior hold in a court of law as evidence of domestic violence? Could I call a family council and garner support from like minded members of the female fraternity? Oh, there must be some escape! It tires me out to even think about the ordeal ahead and the tactics I must employ to survive it. It’s best to let sleep take over and to put off strategizing till the next morning. After all, things don’t seem quite so bleak when the sun’s nicely up, and Vitamin D is good for the grey cells, they say.
Another day…..
I come back from a long invigorating brisk walk that’s lasted more than an hour. I have outpaced most other walkers, and my face is suffused with the glow that comes from good health as I enter my home and hearth, a spring in my step. After a nourishing breakfast of carrot juice and half a bowl of sprouts, it’s time to read the morning papers in that special place on the terrace that gives me just the right amount of sun. My friend calls and asks if we can have a Thai luncheon at an art café, but I decline politely, masking my wonderment about people who know how to count but never measure their calories.
This weekend, I absolutely must shop for new outfits. It really is a bother looking slim and svelte the way I do; it means having to buy an entirely new wardrobe with small sized clothes that only mannequins can slink into.
My better half brings home my blood report from the vampire lab. Every single parameter looks so good he can’t help smiling with joyful pride. The prodigal has returned. I smile back at him, but not for too long. My treadmill yearns to be treaded on and my happiness lies in the calorie deficit I hope to see at the end of a beautifully grueling session. I haven’t the time to celebrate mundane successes when larger victories like an hourglass figure and the healthiest internal systems in the world await me.
6 am, 22 October, 2015
The alarm on my phone trills melodiously, and I wake up, the remnants of a smile the evidence of a beautiful dream. My smile freezes and then wilts into nothingness when I hark back on the conversation with the good doctor the evening before. Truth stares me in the face. A stark day replete with hard labor and a starvation diet beckons. I succumb to the inevitable. What must be done must be done. So……I turn off the alarm, dunk my head under the pillow and promptly go back to sleep.
