Feeling Fat

I’m going out of town to start shooting a new movie and so have been dieting a bit. Not crushing myself under the ridged strictures of a crash diet, or over-indulging in cardio at the gym, just intentionally eating a bit less, trying to get my steps up, and expecting the scale to go down. And it has gone down. A bit.

I woke up the other morning, looked in the mirror, and was thoroughly convinced that I’d not only made no progress, that I’d gained back the few pounds I’d lost. There was a puffiness in my face and abdomen and that was all the evidence I needed.

A gloominess hung about me as I made my way a few steps over to the scale. I even tried to talk myself out of stepping on it. What if I’d gained ten pounds? How would I react. The bartering in my head began: a day of fasting and cardio, no-sodium beverages, call today a wash. I figured I might be able to grind through the day and give the following morning a shot at redemption.

But I did get on the scale. The masochist in me won with the chance of seeing a number that really inflicted pain.

The scale told another story entirely, it suggested I was down. So I moved it. I’m a firm believer that if it’s on an even slightly lopsided surface, it won’t spit out accurate information. Three times in three different areas of my bathroom floor, the scale gave me the same result, give or take a tenth of a pound.

But the mirror didn’t seem to alter its feedback. My mind tried to celebrate the win but ultimately the feeling of being fat won out.

I wanted to succumb to the feeling of being fat. I rationalized the idea that some legitimate part of who I am, must be how I perceive myself, and so if I’m going feel fat I might as well reap the rewards. I thought long and hard about an egg McMuffin with a hash brown stuffed inside of it.

As I was pondering fast-food options, I found myself drinking my morning shake—nothing special, just whey protein and water. This seemed like an odd choice, given the circumstances, but it’s been such a habit that I just found myself doing it. a funny thing happened, that habit, probably in conjunction with the calories it provided allowed me to come to the present, acknowledge that I was having a bad-head day, decide that I would not act out on the bad thoughts, and move on.

There’s always tomorrow I told myself, in case this feeling lingers. But even as I was thinking that, I could sense it passing, like a cloud floating along to darken someone else’s doorway.

Tomorrow might suck too. I have no idea. But I’m grateful I have the tools to get through today.