Sleepless in Sikesville

I'm traveling. Again. This time with a dear friend from my far distant past. We spent our first night on the road in one of those medium-nice chain hotels. The kind that serve you breakfast as part of the package. And offers free Internet access.

I was tired. Had a short night before we left. And I was ready for bed. But I woke up at 4 am this morning with a niggling, yet familiar worry. My aging body is blurring out of its crayola lines. And people are noticing.

These days, when I say casually that I've got to lose some weight, no one argues. I find myself buying clothes that have looser waists. I bless, bless, bless the new stretchy jeans that have some "give" to them in the seat and thighs. I avoid mirrors like the plague or I use selective viewing when I am forced to use one.

I've never been terribly vain. I argue with myself that it's not important what people think. That their view of what a woman's body should be is ridiculous and only attainable by plastic surgery. But the sorry fact is that I am pretty bummed out about the way I am turning out. They say old age is for sissies. But I'm not old yet. And there's no reason I should give up the fight yet.

So I lay awake this morning trying to talk myself into the old diet routine, exercise 'til my face turns beet red, aching muscles and no carbs. And I just can't get motivated. All I can think is: I don't want to do this again. I am sick of the battle. I want some peace.

My first unofficial diet was as a freshman in high school. Instead of the school lunch, I'd order cherry pie and skim milk, Great nutrition, eh? Then I went to Weight Watchers and relearned the five food groups (and "bread units"). I'd lose weight and look great. Then I'd hit a tough streak and put it back on. Diet Center. The Ladies Home Journal Diet. Weight Watchers, Weight Watchers, Weight Watchers. Sugar Busters. Lately, it's been e-Diets.

Most of my life, I hung out at 10 pound above what the charts said I should weigh. My first husband thought it was a major problem. I guess he solved that by marrying a petite little thing who was probably never overweight a day in her life.

And while my current (and final) husband adores my body, tells me I'm not fat, gives me hugs at every available opportunity, I know things have taken an upward turn in bulk and a downward turn in self esteem. I just thought I could outwit it, pretend it wasn't there. Denial surprises me. I am usually the first in line to condemn myself, rough up my tranquilty. Denial is not working for me any longer.

There are only three options. Learn to live with myself in my current lumpy body. Go back to the rigid diets that have dotted my adult life. Or figure out a way to get into shape that works better for me. I opt for Door Number Three.

When I think seriously about it, the food that comes in to view in our culture is pretty awful stuff: donuts and macaroni and cheese and ribeye steaks and fried zucchini. My mouth waters at the possibilities. But my body shudders. All that fat and instantly available sugar is a huge amount of work for my system--squirting insulin at the right time, finding a place to store the extra fat that can't be used immediately.

So my body would thrive on plain veggies and skim milk. I just need to get my brain in sync with that spirit of health.

In the meantime, we are sitting in this medium nice hotel in Sikesville, less than a mile from Lambert's restaurant, home of the "Throwed Roll." I've only heard about this place in legend. The waiters throw five inch homemade yeast rolls across the room and you catch them in mid air. There are rolls everywhere. And fried okra and huge mugs of iced tea. Everything is oversize. And you never leave hungry, apparently. You tend to leave waddling. Just what my swollen body needs, eh?

After that we'll mosey down south to New Orleans, king of the food fests. Emeril's. Commander's Palace. Po'Boys and sweet but potent Plantation Punch. And beignets. With lots of powdered sugar. Ugh. Temptation is terrible. Or tasty, depending on your point of view.

None of this lets me off the hook. Long term, I really want to be thinner again, walk with a spring in my step and energy in my bones. So I will start listening to my battered body again. What DO you want for nourishment, my dear? Not donuts and coconut cream pie. I thought not.

I'm going back to broccoli and cottage cheese and leg lifts. Right after I finish that plate of beignets.