Looking out my Backdoor: As a matter of fat

Several weeks or months ago, all the women in the Rancho jumped onto the latest diet-craze roller coaster. One at a time. I’m not sure how or why. Each is beautiful in her own way.

I say “all” the women. I mean all but myself. I wasn’t invited. Not that I would have bought the ticket. I once rode that carnival ride and it cost me dearly. I have not dieted since.

When I was in high school, several girls attempted the diet of that time. When I make up my mind to do something, I’m like a snapping turtle; I clamp on and don’t let go.

I doubt I was fat — none of us were. I grew up skinny. I lost more than weight. My immune system weakened, I contracted mono, was allergic to the meds, landed in the hospital several weeks, under-hydrated and unable to walk. I lost two months of school. And I never want to be that skinny again, not ever. I was a skeleton with skin.

It’s not fun lunching with a group of dieters. I order whatever I want. My friends eat lettuce leaves, while polishing their halos and eye-balling my plate with both lust and disdain.

One friend said to me, “It is not a diet. It is a lifetime change in eating habits.” “Uh huh,” I answered back. It seems to me that any food deprivation plan smacks of Puritan righteousness. And dieters usually fall off the roller coaster. It’s a rough landing, bruising body and psyche.

We believe what we want to believe. I am no exception. But I know with all my knowing that no amount of starvation, make-up, hair color, face or body enhancements will change the person I am. What you see is what you get, and what you see is the real-me-deal.

Back in my high school days, Jack LaLanne was the television diet and fitness guru. He said, “If it tastes good spit it out.” He also said, “If man made it, don’t eat it.” It worked for him.

I’ve been heard to say I’ve never met a food I didn’t like. That’s not totally true but why would I eat something I don’t like? On the proverbial desert island with just one food, I’ll take bread. Real bread. Bread I bake myself. I could live on fresh bread, toasted, slathered with butter and smothered with mango jam.

I’ve been skinny and I’ve been fat. I prefer somewhere in between. When I notice my clothes shrinking, I look inside my head instead of the refrigerator.

I ask, what is going on with me? What is “eating” me? When a problem is eating me inside out, I’ve noticed I tend to want to live on bread and chocolate. When I deal with the bug-a-boo, I generally fade back to my clothing size with little effort.

It took me years to find that solution. Eating is easier. Why not pleasure the problem with food?

I dropped a lot of weight when I moved to Mexico. I can account for that quite simply. Fruits and vegetables, fresh and local, are cheap and in abundant supply. So is fish and other seafood. These are foods I like and enjoy. So that is what I eat, no diet involved.

I agree with LaLanne that man-made foods are poison. I buy virtually no processed foods. It’s not easy but I have free time to make my own foods that if I were working and raising children, I’d pick up in a can or box at the grocery.

I’m not skinny but I am comfortable with myself and I am healthy. I don’t live on a desert island. I neither live on bread nor do I deprive myself of bread.

Moderation in all things is as much of a food plan as I can handle. My opinion, not backed by science or statistics, is that to function fully, our bodies need some fats and carbs, too.

Man does not live by grass alone. That’s why we eat cows. A prime rib sandwich can be a holy meal.

Maybe my friends are losing weight. I don’t know. Maybe deprivation works for them. I don’t know. But why do desperate women crawl to my door begging for just one piece of chocolate?

I’m hungry. I’m going to fix a plate of sliced tomato and cucumber with a drizzle of my homemade dressing as soon as I finish shining my righteous halo.

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Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com. Email [email protected].