INDD

My friend Pattie wrote a Facebook post for INDD (International No Diet Day) in which she very kindly mentioned me as someone who was part of her process as she moved away from dieting. Pattie is one of those people. I feel like she's an old friend and a close friend but we've only actually been in "person" for a short time in SF once. I feel like my blogging friends are proof that you can have deep and significant relationships that are build through communication.
I forgot about INDD. Pattie's post sent me into a deep reverie about my fat life.
I stopped dieting to lose weight when I was 16 or 17. There were a lot of influences in that decision not the least of which was my (fat) maternal grandma who thought dieting was idiotic and never let anyone disparage my body. Also (and maybe just a bit more fun) was Frank Zappa. He sang: there will come a time when you won't even be ashamed if you are fat.
What?
Seriously?
Nah.
Really?
The choice to quit trying to lose weight was a choice to not be ashamed of my body. They were two roots that wound together in my identity.
That choice was made at a time when I was also a hippie chick. I was making granola and brown rice and baking whole wheat everything. And I was also wanting to have a restaurant. Because Alice (Alice's Restaurant) did. I had her cook book. I made manicotti  following her recipe, including the sauce. The kitchen was a mess.
I believed in real food. Real. Food.
My first jobs in restaurants weren't high end. I worked at a counter in a drug store. A chain (mostly) hamburger place. A small (French) cafe in a hotel. A diner. A cafe in an old house. I began to learn about cooking and what made a plate of food good. I continued to push my self to work in higher end places. I didn't really have the skills but I worked hard.
I have really strong feelings about what makes food good and what's crap. Domino's. Crap. The pub down the street where they make the dough and the toppings are all fresh. Good. I'd eat  Domino's. But not if I have a choice.
My ideas about food are my ideas. They aren't universal truths. After all these years and the evolution of all my ideas the thing I feel is close to a universal truth is that people should eat the food that makes them happy. David Chang, famous chef, cook books, television, awards. He likes Domino's.
Diet mentality is pernicious because it makes some foods the enemy. It's just not a useful way to think.
I was talking to a friend the other day about knowing that I can't digest food like I did when I was younger. If I eat a large quantity I suffer. For hours. The next day I ate too much pizza. It was fresh. It was there. It was good. I was full but I kept eating. And I was so miserable the rest of the night. In pain. When I was younger I could eat an entire large pizza and feel fine. At one I time I ate a lot of Domino's.
I have two thoughts. Seemingly opposite. (Happens all the time.)
How we eat is a diet. We are all on a diet.
Fat people can't really think about it like that.
How we eat and what ever shame we may feel about our bodies are wound together. Deeply rooted in our history.
So we have a no diet day. We ask for a break from food panic. We try to take a break from the constant yammering about the new best way to live happily ever after as soon as you lose weight. Fuck that shit.
I want to write about how deadly the bad ideas about fat bodies are. I wrote about it a few weeks ago. I'm still hearing about the Covid 15. I'm still read my friend's joke about how much they're going to weigh when they are able to go out side again. I'm still hearing health experts say that obesity is a factor in Covid. I'm in a constant state of hurt, frustration and rage. I feel like nothing I have ever said or written has made a difference. My feelings are too muddled to write clearly.
But then Pattie acknowledged me. I remembered that there are other warriors in the cause of owning our right to not feel shame. To eat food. To unwind those roots. I had a hard time taking it in. And then I smiled.

The Day

Some times in the evening I sort of forget about what's happening. Chris and Rachel are over at 7PM. I am usually in the front of the nest. I head back to my little library and read or watch (not news)TV. I'm in the world of another story. I am comfortable. Fed. Not terribly worried about money. I let the story suck me in and I sort of forget. It's the way I've spent evenings before the virus.
Even when I first wake up I'm not quite aware. I struggle to remember what day it is. I remember that I don't need to get ready to swim. I remember why. I listen to NPR while I'm eating breakfast. Do a quick check in with Facebook and Twitter. Listen to a Podcast while I do the yoga/bikewheel/shower/dress thing. Make coffee and settle in to read for awhile If I'm in a book I'm back to the shelter of the story. Yesterday I was catching up on New Yorkers. I read about a much loved door man now dead. He was coughing and a little tired when he went to the hospital, joking with everyone.
I never had a door man in NYC but there was a guy who sat in a room near the entrance of my building. You could pick up your mail there. I never got much. When I passed him in the evening I'd smile and nod. He was a surly guy. Very rarely I'd get a tiny nod.
One night I was being followed. I picked up my pace, blasted through the door and headed to the elevator. The guy following me came in behind me. My not-a-door-man came out of the little room and when I turned around in the elevator, just before the door closed, I saw him sending my stalker out the front door. He probably saved me from some kind of unpleasantness. The guys at the door are a big deal in New York.
There was a story about a doctor in an ER. It ended with him holding a cell phone so that his patient's family could say goodbye.
There was a story about a guy who is making a profit during this time of need.
It was not a restful out of touch reading time. My eyes tightened.
Around 11 or noon I turn on MSNBC and the computer. Some times I turn it all off quickly, or mute the TV. I write email and sometimes a blog post. (Hi!) I make note of the numbers, which seem to be higher and higher faster and faster. Cable news is insanely repetitive and these days it's like getting hit by a hammer over and over. My heart starts to ache. My brow knits. There are days when I just hear it and don't react. I wonder if those are days when I am deeply checked out, numb but don't quite know it.
My right knee has been hurting little more than usual. I think it's because I'm not swimming. All the active things I would do (water plants, clean, cook) aren't getting done. More reading. Some times a not-news TV show. Get a meal together. Watch Chris and Rachel. And then I'm back to my little room of books.
It's always been a thing. Balancing wanting to stay informed and needing to have some peace. It serves no one for me to be overwhelmed by the overwhelming situation in which we are all living. It is essential that know the stories of doormen and doctors and allow the tears that fall from tense eyes. I find the times when I forget what's happening troubling. I'm confused by my comfort. I'm grateful for it but it does confuse me. Red alert has been called and I'm drifting through the day with no organizing demands.