Too Much of a Good Thing

Do you remember Fruit Stripe? In 10th Grade Government we had a lecture on supply and demand. To illustrate her point, my teacher selected a student (and my crush tee hee... I always did love an excuse to stare!) and asked if he would like a piece of gum. Of course he would since chewing gum in school was technically illegal - this did not stop me from chewing during a presentation in said class, however. That is a story for another time, though. Anyway...

She pulled out a piece of Fruit Stripe and handed it to him, telling him to chew. After about a minute of staring him down (hehe) she hands him another piece. "Chew" she demands. He looks around confused... "Uh should I take this piece out first?"

"No, add this one."

She does this repeatedly until the entire pack of gum is inside this poor kid's mouth. Five minutes of jawing and 17 sticks later she pulls out another pack and again asks "Would you like a piece of gum?" His eyes wide with horror, he shakes his head forcibly and tries to convey through a wad of chewed gum that, No, he doesn't.

Over the course of this experiment his face radically changes from that class clown smug-shot to crestfallen and pained. That's exactly how I feel when I eat.

To start, I'm hungry... or bored. The thought of a burger or slice of pizza sounds delicious. I go to the kitchen and find myself a snack. But the snack doesn't fill me up. I don't feel satisfied. I'm still hungry and I still haven't eaten what I really want in the first place.

...So I eat more. I can't help myself. I have no will power to leave well enough alone. Now, I can't be hungry because I may have just polished off some crackers or a bowl of ice cream or cereal, but I haven't had that burger yet. I binge until the weight of the food in my stomach hurts. And then I get depressed. I'm disgusted with what I've just done. I feel fat and ugly. I'm disappointed that I couldn't stop this from happening again. Because this isn't the first time, you know.

Inevitably I reach that sickening point where my face is crestfallen and pained, as if my whole life has been the Fruit Stripe experiment. Sometimes I go into the bathroom, close the door, and make myself throw up. Sometimes I exercise... and then throw up. Sometimes I just sit there and resolve never to let it happen again.

It will though. And even now as I write this, I think:

1) Maybe expressing myself will act as therapy to help me get past my cravings.

2) Portion control. Portion control. Portion Control.

3) What's for dinner?

Ballet

I saw a ballerina today. I've never seen one up-close before. Not a real one. Not one that spends a typical workday in a studio practicing adagios and pas de trois rather than in an office somewhere. I could tell she was a dancer by trade... the same way I can pick out a softball player or a gymnast or a swimmer. Her body was lean and long and graceful... not to mention she stood in forth when alternating between tendu.

I've always been fascinated with the human body. How it molds itself to different uses with so many shapes and forms. So when I saw her, I had to remind myself not to stare. But I wanted to! I looked at her feet surreptitiously, hoping she wouldn't notice my curiosity. And they were remarkably well groomed. I think I half expected hammer-toes and blisters. At least that's what they lead you to believe in movies.  She was short even in 3.5 inch heels, and I thought to myself that she'd trained the arches of her feet to curve well above that height. You could see the strength in them, tendons pulled taut over bone...

She was all limb with hardly any torso and her neck was long and slender. I never understood if their necks were a result of their dancing or if the one resulted from the other... but it seems every ballerina looks like a proverbial swan. But unlike the stereotype as seen on tv, she wasn't skin and bones. Every single muscle was honed to a sharp edge from daily use. And although she'll feign fragility onstage, she looked rock solid in person.

All I could think was how flabby and unfit I was in comparison. It's funny... after loosing some of the weight I'd been carrying around with me since junior high, I've been able to feel bones sticking out that where never there before. When I lay on my side I can squeeze my hip bone back to front, feel the contour of the curving illiac fossa and the sharp anterior superior illiac spine. Digging my fingers into my skin, I can even hook the edge of it. I can pinch my shoulder and feel the edges of my shoulder blade. Even more surprising, I can feel the tip of the acromion while before it was round and fat... When my knees touch, the medial epicondyles knock into each other and hurt! And best of all... I can see my clavicals!! (even though, admittedly, only when I look hard).

But in comparison, if I was a deflated elephant draped over a skeleton, she was some sort of feline. Jealous? Yes... Motivated? More so... I wish I'd stuck with my ballet.