Day Three, Day Four, and The Terminator movies

Yesterday I went over to the mall to get my hair cut, and hit the food court beforehand to have my mid-morning snack. There were healthy choices there, but in the end, in a burst of rebellion, I had a regular poutine from New York Fries. I planned to adjust my intake for the rest of the day accordingly, of course, but by no stretch of the imagination can poutine be considered healthy or slimming.

I got my hair cut by the same young guy as always. The scalp massage he gave me when applying conditioner was blissful, and afterwards he brought me coffee and a cookie (tsk tsk, I know, but he said he wanted to give me a treat) to consume while he trimmed my hair. And, of course, he chatted with me - how was dating going? I said I've decided I am very happy being single. He asked if I had been going to the gym, as I tugged my top down over my rolls of belly fat for the millionth time that day. No, I replied, but I have begun a diet - I'm on Day Three. His response was suitably tactful, and we moved on to other topics, though he did urge me to go for a walk to burn off my poutine.

Afterwards I searched The Bay and then Zellers for a bathroom scale. I finally found the scales at Zellers, and chose a $10 one. I didn't want to spend a lot on it in case it needed replacing from, you know, being hurled across the room or something. Then I acquired the first three Terminator movies in a 3/$20 deal, and took all my loot home.

Now, I am 5'11", and my weight has been going up and down since the 1980s. Before now I think the most I have ever weighed was 170 pounds, though I prefer to be around 145 to 150 when I can manage it. This time, however, I knew I had gained more than usual, and thought I might be as high as 190. Thus suitably braced - or so I thought - I stepped onto the scale.

208 pounds. Oh. My. Goat.

The 200 pound mark is the one you read about in those online stories about how some woman gained weight and became the mockery of the neighbourhood. Her dog stopped loving her, children ran away from her shrieking in terror, and every time she swam in the ocean someone reported a whale sighting, as she went shooting past 200 pounds and reached 350 in a matter of days. Then she found a new religion called Diet and Exercise, and now she's a celebrity and people strew rose petals before her feet everywhere she goes.

But it all began when she passed the 200 pound mark. Clearly I need to stick to this diet and start adding exercise, or I too will soon be 350 pounds. Because that's how it happens.

I did not diet for the rest of the day yesterday, because I was depressed and needed comfort food. I didn't gorge myself, but I sure as heck didn't eat any fruits and vegetables either. Starch and protein, my faves.

I presently feel about my excess weight the way Kyle Reese described the first Terminator machine: It can't be bargained with. It can't be reasoned with. It doesn't feel pity. Or remorse.

So today I am back on the diet, even though I still want comfort food. Clearly I need to find some other form of comfort, though what I am really craving is a huge roast chicken gorge, with my own way of roasting the chicken to keep it juicy. I will save my two daily portions of meat for the chicken I do in fact plan to make tonight, but that will be it for the day. No more cheating - because my fat doesn't feel pity, or sympathy, or remorse, and cannot be bargained with. Time to terminate it.