Help Me Say No!

Listen to the sounds of a satisfying supper – slurping soup, gobbling fried chicken. Lips moist with satisfaction, tummies accept this feast of pleasure and enjoyment. Another night of friendship gathered in our apartment. My wife and I, hostess and host for our bi-monthly sharing of a meal. It's ritualistic, satisfying, and enjoyable, eating with our precious company.

And each of us seem to seek a gold medal, as Olympians, in one of three categories: Very Amply Fit, Chubby to Love, and Look at Me, Momma. Or – perish the words – a Fat Person of Accomplishment.

I believe our society has become a collection of observers who finally realize that weight gain is progressing beyond normal health standards. And whose fault is it? Easy enough to point wagging fingers at offending habits; yet, when did it all begin? After all, wasn't I leaner and meaner during the 1950s and 1960s?

My early years of body growth were gained by quick meals eaten between cap gun shootouts with the bad guys waiting at nearby Larivière Hill. The constant outdoor activity kept my young legs springy and my body taut, allowing an active boy to run, jump, and chase friends along neighborhood trails infested by imaginary gorillas. We loved to mimic Tarzan.

But the seasons of time swept by like a flight of Canada geese. It seemed my physical outline was destined to grow bolder, especially with the eating choices available to me as I ran wild in supermarket corridors.

My eyeballs pleasured in the variety – vast assortments of cheeses and, in place of lumpy porridge, breakfast cereals offering so many distinctive flavors of crunchy, sugar-dipped treats. Oh, what did you do to me Count Chocula?

I became bewildered by the array of product names my growing children easily sang out during our frequent shopping sprees. Even items such as marshmallows, formerly only part of a camping expedition, were elevated to the status of anytime snacks to satisfy a craving.

My children had a super-organized lifestyle: I watched while they played, and munched while they teased me with their activity. Lost to me were my own active days of scrub baseball, where even the least talented child was given a chance to hit the ball, then scramble to the safety of first base.

From the bleachers, I watched my children as the sound of munching chips, popcorn, and candy of all description, not to mention belches from hastily swallowed soda pop, roared as an ocean. They were the trademarks of a Saturday afternoon of enjoyment. And it became the fashion to provide a variety of feasts to invited guests or any famished person who happened to appear.

Slowly, but surely, over the passage of many years, my once flat tummy grew outward. It used to be my youthful desire to grow tall quickly. Now I had to deal with horizontal growth. I excused my new shape with tales such as, "My chest has fallen." Strangely enough, it was almost fashionable for men to rub protruding bellies, and belch a good one.

Eventually, but not without protestation, I finally accepted advice from my favorite doctor, and joined an army of wellness addicts, determined to change. Yes, I knew I could. And I would. Indeed, it soon became the rage for everyone in my age range to lose weight. Jogging, running, and swimming seemed to preoccupy our minds in a frenzy of shedding unwanted pounds. Yet, during the moves from one diet fad to another, pounds lost crept back.

What to do? Was I simply to be a clone to some bulging wrestler?

Eating is fun. And I certainly enjoyed the journey of my consumptions, but something drastic has to take place in order to reduce the dangerous levels of my blood pressure readings. I am determined to win.

"Or else," as my doctor admonished.

I realize it was the best kick-in-the-pants diet advice I ever received; although, I did not have the courage to ask her definition of the phrase, "Or else."

A friend wisely advised, "Keep your mouth closed during opportunities for snacking." Now I do so, especially when my wife and I are within arm's reach of munchies, treats, or other delectable yummies. Oh gosh, they always congregate to my side of the table.

Timing is everything. Attitude is a definite asset. And you know something? I've lost eight pounds already!

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