Help Me Say, No More Food

Listen to the sounds of a satisfying supper; slurping soup, gobbling fried chicken, absorbing the aroma of food land ecstasy. Lips are moist with satisfaction, tummies accepting this feast of pleasure.

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. We live in a land of plenty, where rushing to the table is a wonderful pastime.

Each of us seems eager to win 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: the end results, a fat person of accomplishment.

I believe our society has become a collection of observers who finally realize 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 1950’s and 1960’s?

I vividly remember my youth did without a variety of choices available today. For instance, eating hot dogs meant one or maybe two surrounded by a slice of bread, no thick buns. Nor could we afford the luxury of ketchup, or mustard. One was a luxury. Relish? What was that? Something only meant for rich folks.

My early years of body growth meant quick meals eaten between cap gun shootouts with the bad guys waiting at nearby Lariviere Hill. And the constant outdoor activity kept my young legs springy, and body taut, flat tummy allowing an active boy to run, jump and chase friends through imaginary Gorilla infested trails around the neighborhood.

We loved to mimic Tarzan and others.

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

My eyeballs pleasured in the many cheeses adorning whole segments of space, breakfast cereals no longer lumpy porridge. Available to me were many distinctive flavors of crunchy sugar-dipped breakfast treats. What did you do to me Count Chocola?

New activities in my life included watching the super organized lifestyle my children were part of. From the bleachers I heard the sound of chips, popcorn, candy bars, and belches from hastily swallowed pop.

I was not alone. Other sitting parents gathered as a family of pigeons sharing a smorgasbord of eats. The remains of our feasting sprinkled as salt and pepper flakes, under our feet. Even at home, a bottle of beer, and plate of chips combined with an afternoon of TV football, wrestling or NHL Hockey.

They were the trademarks of a Saturday afternoon of enjoyment. In fact it became the fashion to provide a variety of feasts to invited guests or any famished person who happened to drop in. Often they came over because their own kids had already emptied the fridge.

Slowly but surely, over the passage of many years, my once flat tummy grew outward. I excused my new shape with a smattering of hollow tales; such as, “My chest has fallen.” Strangely enough, it became jokingly fashionable for men to rub protruding bellies, and belch a good one.

But a question began to nag me in moments of gluttony guilt. “Why is it the profound duty of so many men to finish off leftovers on plates? Or eat the remnants of chip pieces in the bottom of soon to be discarded crinkling bags?”

Eventually, but not without protestation, I finally accepted advice from my favorite doctor. Then I joined an army of wellness addicts, determined to change. Yes, I knew I could. And I would.

It soon became the rage for everyone in my age range to lose weight. Jogging, swimming and running seemed to preoccupy our minds in a frenzy of shedding unwanted pounds. Yet pounds lost crept back into welcoming flesh.

It became a test of wills to resist dining on burgers, pizzas, chicken, fish & chips? Hurry-Up and decide at fast food line-ups is the password of our time. Anyone with a few dollars in their pocket easily takes the bait rushing to savor new cuisines. After, it’s off to visit friends where further calories await along with a cup of coffee. How can resistance to calorie intake compete with such delights?

Eating is fun. And I certainly enjoyed the journey of my consumptions. But something drastic had to take place in order to reduce dangerous levels within my blood pressure readings. My personal situation required drastic measures and a challenge I was determined to win.

“Or else,” my doctor admonished. I realize it was the best kick-in-the-pants diet advice I ever received. 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 of 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, why do they always congregate to my side of the table? But, I persevered.

Timing is everything; attitude a definite asset. And guess what? I’ve lost five pounds!

© 2010 Richard L. Provencher
Richard’s URL: http://writers.ns.ca/Writers/rprovencher.html