After the holidays and spring break, it would be an understatement to say that I’m feeling a little bloated. In fact, post two Seders and a trip to Katz’s deli, I ate so much brisket, lamb and pastrami that on my one attempt to work out during the break, my sweat resembled gravy. I knew I was in trouble when the fat guy on the elliptical trainer next to mine tried to lick me!
I’ve always had a bit of a weight problem, and am currently wearing my “heavy” clothes. I recently had to put a new notch in my favorite belt. Come to think of it, I don’t believe that I have ever had to add a notch to a belt in the skinny direction. I have dieted many times in my life, and have gained and lost more weight then an MIT doctoral candidate could calculate.
Truth is, I know which foods are bad for me. I know all about calories and sugars, fats and carbohydrates. But if doughnuts are bad for you, then why do they taste so fricking good? It’s only ironic that NOW they are changing the food pyramid, and the nutrition education that my generation got as kids is now considered to be all wrong.
Wouldn’t it be great if in the yearly Social Security update, the government would formally apologize for misguiding a generation of obese diabetics?
It’s all right, though. At least we will all have long-term Medicare to take care of us forever.
My wife recently made an appointment for us to meet with a nutritionist. This lady was lovely and profiled our daily eating habits. She also had us write a log of what we ate, when we ate it and believe it or not, how we felt. Hmm, feelings combined with food. I think she may have stumbled onto something. I notice that when I am happy, I eat. But even more disturbing, when I’m sad, I REALLY eat.
No matter how much you exercise, if your caloric intake doesn’t decrease as you age, you will gain weight, or at least I will gain weight. So off I go to the gym again. Today, I’m training with some new training balls and bell weights. This new workout concept is ridiculous. As I lay on my back, waiting for the big blue balloon underneath my 200+ pound frame to pop, I’m rocking back and forth with a 25-pound kettle bell weight in each hand.
This is almost as hard the Louisiana field sobriety test that I once had to take!
My lifelong love-hate relationship with food has made me realize that although life is short, if you keep feeding yourself all the wrong things, you can make life even shorter.
Although some of my favorite memories are about meals, and especially food. When I was 9-years-old, my parents couldn’t attend my camp’s visiting day. As other kids' parents showed up with huge bags of candy and other cool stuff, I was called down to the office. Waiting for me was a package from my parents, and it was a big one…SWEET!
I tore the box open with visions of my favorite candies dancing in my head. Gummies, chocolate covered anything, maybe a s’mores kit.
But the item in the package was long and encased in cloth. I quickly unwrapped it to reveal in all its glory, a 3-foot-long, 6 pound stick of salami. That’s right, in the middle of the hottest summer in recorded history, in an old wooden bunk with no air conditioning, I got to spend the latter half of my summer whittling away at a giant kosher beef icon.
I kept it under my bed and on hot days, that salami would sweat. It also seemed to attract every stray dust bunny in the bunk, but I would just wipe it off and cut myself another chunk.
Even then, the sadder I got about my parents not visiting, the more I ate.
I guess that my mother misread the famous sign at the deli that says “Send a Salami to your boy in the Army,” and interpreted it as “Send a Salami to that boy from Miami”.