Big 10 Friday, food class recap, and more (updated)

10 Ways in Which I Am Like Rain Man

1. I prefer having my bed near a window.
2. I think K-Mart sucks.
3. I’m an excellent driver.
4. I don’t want anyone touching my stuff.
5. I too am emotionally distant from Tom Cruise.
6. I often think “wet” after a woman kisses me. (Hush.)
7. “Lights out at eleven” is a very good standard to stick to.
8. You can't have pancakes without maple syrup.
9. I fully support the idea of having a Serious Injury List.
10. Changes in routine are b-a-d. (“Four minutes to Wapner!”)

I have no idea why I’ve had this movie on the brain recently, but I have, so there’s my list. Thank you very much. You may be an instant winner. Elvis has left the building.

Food class recap

"Good evening, class. My name is Keerstyn."

Of course it is.

Keerstyn probably weighs all of 120 pounds, if not less, and described a typical day’s lunch and snack to the class as being a couple apples, a banana, some tuna-in-water, a can of peas, and a bag of 100-calorie popcorn for snack. This didn’t faze me one bit, but I started eating a lot better on Tuesday morning and have had more fruit this week than I probably did in the entire month of August. Unfortunately, there were a lot of cynical people in the class. One guy – the only guy in the class – asked the instructor if she ate anything “good” during the day. He’s obviously not down with her food choices.

It’s going to be a struggle for me to be in this class. It’s enough to be in an environment where I confront my issues with food. It’s worse to be in that environment with strangers, especially cynical ones who don’t seem to really want to make a change in their eating habits. And it was awful to be handed a body mass index (BMI) chart and weigh so much that my weight was quite literally off the chart. (Not that I need a chart to know what my BMI is. I know what it is; it just would’ve been nice to feel somewhat normal during an already-tense time. The class was full of people in varying sizes, but I was the biggest person there, I’m pretty sure.) Oh, and then the folding chair I was sitting on broke. I really really really hope it was already breaking and I just didn’t realize it before I sat down because I’ve never broken a folding chair in my life. Of course, that happened five minutes before the class ended. The chair made an awful sound, my entire person slumped to the right, and I was bracing myself between a table and a wall to make sure I didn’t hit the ground. I had to get up in front of the entire class and get another chair. The class was deathly quiet while they all stared at me and I said, “What a great place for my chair to break.” One woman piped up and said, “At least it didn’t happen in front of your skinny family.” Okay, kudos for, I guess, trying to make me feel better, but shut up and let me slink back to my corner and marinate in my shame.

The good news is that I was raised to know what healthy food choices are. My parents shopped at a co-op when I was a kid. I was raised on whole wheat bread and vegetables and only got soda when we went out to eat at restaurants. I didn’t take Twinkies to school with me and we didn’t have an Atari. I was an active kid, but I’ve just always been bigger than other kids. In elementary school, I was taller than everyone else and was basically labeled a freak for that. And then my weight caught up with my height and I became a playground pariah who was going to sit on people if they made me mad. (Siiiiigh.) I’ve just always liked to eat a lot (in terms of amount, as well as the joy I've almost always associated with eating). I clearly remember going back for seconds a lot as a kid. Hey, my dad did, so I could too, right? What I’ve discovered after a lot of soul-searching, for lack of a far-less-clichéd phrase, is that my relationship with my parents is deeply rooted in my eating disorder. (I get angry when compulsive overeating isn’t acknowledged as an eating disorder. People who overeat are in the same kind of danger as people who are bulimic or anorexic. We all have hideous food issues. I understand that an anorexic person is in danger of starving to death, but let’s talk about the isolation, self-loathing, shame, and depression that come with being big.

My mom always had her hawk eye on me and didn’t want me to eat more and told me, when I was 19, that I was “visibly fatter” (Thanks!) and Dad was on the other end, not batting an eyelash when I went back for seconds at the dinner table. He was also the guy who made our station wagon “break down” when we passed a Dairy Queen. Suddenly, the car would m-a-g-i-c-a-l-l-y slow down and glide into the DQ lot and we would all emerge a few minutes later with a Dilly Bar in hand, happy as clams.

What I’m beginning to understand about my dad, who isn’t a big guy – just “middle-aged chunky” – is that he must feel less guilt about eating sweets, etc. when he has other people around him doing the same thing. Case in point: Yesterday, on the way to a client event that none us wanted to attend, Dad suggested we stop for ice cream sandwiches. I automatically said no and sat in furious silence while he and a coworker chomped on huge chipwiches and talked with their mouths full on the way to our meeting. I felt very much like a recovering alcoholic who had just been offered a couple of beers because, hey, c’mon, what’s one little drink? I talked to Dad about it this morning. He apologized, but I don’t think he really gets it. He might never get it and I believe that because (a) he’s probably pretty set in his proverbial ways and (b) I don’t think he understands that he rewards with food and always has. I feel like there’s only so much I can talk to him about because we don’t have the same kind of issues with food (I’m guessing) and he tends to interrupt me when I’m speaking anyway. It’s just been a real struggle for me to even begin to heal the damage that my parents’ mixed messages and my behavior have caused. I’m not blaming them; please understand that. I’m just acknowledging their role in my “journey.”

I think the food class might work out okay; like I said, it’s just going to be tough. The good news (more of it – yay!) is that I’ve done really well with food all week. Even last night, when I was hit with a chocolate attack, I didn’t lose my mind and give up entirely and drown myself in a vat of ice cream. I allowed myself The Joy of Twix and didn’t feel guilty about it. Besides, you don’t ever really want to deny a PMS-ing woman her chocolate. It’s really just not wise.

I’ve had a couple epiphanies in the last couple days. One was that I think Subway should offer little packets of baby carrots with their meal deals instead of only offering chips, despite the fact that they offer various varieties of Baked Lays. (And TELL ME that doesn’t sound like a bunch of stoned post-orgy participants. I mean, c’mon. Really.) I think they can easily buy little carrot packs – hell, they sell them at the grocery, so I know they’re available – and offer them with all their healthy alternative sandwiches. It would be like a fast food place offering salads as well as burgers (even though McDonald’s puts sugar in their salads, a fact I learned by watching Super Size Me); people would have the option to choose carrots or chips. Really, they could choose any veggie, but baby carrots seems to be the best choice. It provides the crunch that people crave and is a healthy alternative. I think they can get that Jared asshole to start hawking Eat Fresh Crunch! meals, or whatever they’d call them, with ease. Two words: contractual agreement.

My second epiphany is that I’m going to offer to help out with the future food classes, which are sponsored by a local hospital. I will bill myself as an authority once I successfully complete the class. I think it would be a lot more comforting for people to come into the class and see a big person as one of the leaders. I would obviously not replace the Keerstyns of the world, but I think it would be good to show that big people can make healthy food choices and still be big. I gained most of my weight in high school and just never took it off. I’ve certainly been a member of the Yum, More Oreos, Please! Club, but I’ve also been in the Baby Carrot and Water-Packed Tuna (which I grew up on; oil-packed tuna is revolting) Club; I think it’s important to acknowledge that I don’t always make the best food choices, but it is possible to live without McDonald’s and pints of Ben & Jerry’s. Anyway, I want to come up with some kind of proposal because I’m quite serious about helping out next time the class is offered. And honestly, the hospital folks wouldn’t even have to pay me. That’s how serious I am about doing this. But I won’t tell them that.