Sure sounds like a parody of a certain Gene Autry song, right? But this time it's for real. I'm not referring to alcohol (feeling drunk has always been as pleasant to me as flying in coach.....standing up....straphanging.....being kicked in the shins by a sullen toddler).
Nope, the wagon I've climbed back up on is the diet wagon. What was my wake-up call? Was it the fact that my knees have been hurting and popping in and out of alignment lately? That I actually had to ask Bob to smuggle me a pair of plus-size scrubs from Holy Cross because I can't quite fit into the XLs I bought at Costco? (To his credit, he was principled enough to refuse). That my beloved free biscuit-and-gravy motel breakfasts were beginning to all taste the same and give me agita to boot? That I've added a third pillow to hold off the nighttime heartburn? That it only takes a few minutes of standing in line anywhere to find myself desperately searching for something to lean on? That I find myself going to the drugstore for a roll of Tums and a nail file......and using a cart as a de facto walker? That the last few times I've navigated through airports I wished I'd actually brought my walker (which I generally use only for very long treks where I know I'll need to sit on occasion)? That I never take such treks anymore unless I absolutely have to? That I MUST have a boom mic stand to make room between the stand and my ever-rounder midsection plus guitar? That I've started consolidating little errands to keep my at-home stair climbing to the minimum necessary? That I can no longer put a fitted sheet on a bed or pull on a pair of pantyhose without straining a muscle (or worse)? That the plus-size skinny jeans I bought (and which fit) three weeks ago are already too tight on my belly? That there's less room between my calves and my boots into which to tuck said jeans? That instead of kneading on my down comforter, my cat now kneads on me? That every time I fly now my heart stops for an instant when I sit down, lest that be the day I finally have to ask for a seatbelt extender? And that more and more times I fly or ride the bus or train, people stare at the empty seat next to me and I can actually see them doing the math as to how much of me will encroach upon them and whether they are willing to take the chance and sit down?
You know the answer: all of the above. Now, let me get two things straight. First, it's not about looks (except for the aforementioned dirty ones I get on public transit). I have made peace with my age: the wrinkles, the need to get my teeth cleaned a bit more often and to start using my bleaching trays on them again, having to get my gray roots touched up (necessitated by there still being less salt than pepper in them), the handful of prescriptions I take (as well as vitamins with the word "silver" in them), the ever-ripening cataract. I know I look slimmer in three dimensions and even in motion on video, and for stills there's always Photoshop.
Second, it's not about self-loathing or a disapproval of obese people. Quite the contrary---I say live and let live, and I don't resent my insurance premiums financing the ailments of those heavier than I (and I don't believe there's really THAT much to the story). Oddly enough, I had made it down to a size 6 in my late thirties and maintained my loss for a year. Until one day, I was watching a TV debate between a representative of NAFFA (Nat'l. Assoc. For Fat Acceptance), an RN and a TV gossip columnist (or eventual FOXNews commentator, I forget the difference). I kept hearing the two thin people ganging up on fat people, saying obesity is strictly a matter of laziness and gluttony and a failure of self-control and morality, and I began to seethe. Did either of these two realize how much harder than they some people must work to just keep from getting heavier? How long it took me, how many people I'd inconvenienced and how often I'd inured myself in the course of losing weight by sensible means? Or that the food and restaurant industry (especially the latter) throw up roadblocks to convenient healthy eating choices? (Ask any fast-food chain what's cheaper and faster: a grill or a deep-fryer; lean meats and veggies or battered-and-breaded everything; fresh berries or soft-serve). I realized right then and there that I may have been able to slip into a 6P (which today would be a 2P!) suit but that my heart was with those 2Xs whom I used to be. From that moment on, even though I had episodes of successful (but never again THAT successful) weight loss, I knew that the deck would always be stacked against me and that only the obese and my loved ones would understand if and why I were never svelte again.
No, I've made this decision simply because I'm tired of being achy and tired and dyspeptic. Because I'm tired of having to rotate every size from 2 to 24 between my closets and my attic (to which my family sometimes ruefully refers as "the mall"). Because I want to keep the knees I have at least Uncle Sam will pay to replace them. Because I'm tired of seeing all the cool and flattering clothes in the catalogs not being offered in plus sizes. Because I want to be eligible for a wider variety of roles in the Bar Show. Because I'm tired of rubbing on liniment and icing my knees and ankles after even a few hours on my feet. Because I don't want to choose between standing up to sing 2 or 3 sets and not having to rub painkilling gel on and ice my feet and knees afterwards.
So how am I doing it this time? Same as before (which took me down 60 lbs., from a 24 to a 16/18 and even 14): the "South Atkins Beach" Diet. And no, it's not just because I want to sing "Dead Animals and Leaves" again without a lyric modification. (And my profound apologies to those in my audiences whom that song made uncomfortable--I wasn't aiming it at you and I wasn't and still am not making any judgment about you. Just because I've decided to change my shape doesn't mean that I think you should, especially knowing how horribly difficult if not impossible it is). I know there are more balanced eating plans out there, and giving up starches, some vegetables and even most fruits and dairy (for awhile) is going to be a real challenge (especially when I must cook for a father-in-law who will eat nothing with legs unless it has feathers....which means if I want a steak, lamb or a pork chop I'll either have to be a short-order cook or get guilt-tripped over his eating a frozen fish or chicken meal). If I could always stay close to home, Weight Watchers or a prefab food plan would be workable (heck, I once opted to vacation at a condo instead of a hotel just to be able to cook my Jenny Craig foods). But I like restaurants and I do like to cook, two factors that make Jenny Craig, Nutri-System or Seattle Sutton unworkable for me (especially since the latter has no red meat, shellfish or even fresh fish). No other plan out there has been workable for me on the road---at midnight in a small town I know I can always find a bunless burger and a salad. I can keep nuts, celery and jerky in the car for snacks to distract me from the evil vending machines at the rest stops and the array of junk food at gas station convenience stores (some of which, though, actually carry hard-boiled eggs and string cheese). Not having to weigh and measure on the road, and being able to eat without hauling out a calculator or iPhone to keep track worked for me before. It fell apart when first my mom and then my in-laws fell ill. I let the stress of commuting between NY, FL and home, the lack of an actual hospital cafeteria open when I needed it, and the path of least resistance of the starchy free buffet my hotel offered late at night for JFK flight crews get to me. And eventually when I had to cook starchy and sugary foods for said meat-averse in-law, I gave up trying to cook two or three different entrees every night--I began to go with the flow and the flow was more of an undertow. Finally, Type 2 diabetes runs in my family. Luckily, I'm not there yet--but if I start to eat like a diabetic I may be able to long delay becoming (or perhaps never become) one myself.
So here I am--typing like crazy to keep me away from the Easy Mac, brownies, linguine and pot pies in the freezer. Day two, and so far so good. I stepped on the scale at the start, but I don't intend to do it often--I'll let the fit of my clothes and the comfort of my joints let me know my progress. I'll keep you informed. Meanwhile, there's a little dish of nuts and olives and a quart of ice water calling my name.