Journal of a Living Lady #68

Nancy White Kelly

 

Some things are impossible like stuffing an elephant in a thimble or rounding off infinity. I’ve not tried either of these, but I have tried to lose weight. Impossible for me, at least for the long haul.

 

I have lost 200 pounds in my lifetime. Unfortunately, I’ve re-discovered every single fat module.  I admit to having “elbow benditis”  in the past.  However, since having the cancer recurrence, I really and truly do not eat that much

 

My oncologist told me not to even think about dieting. She doesn’t want me to lose any weight, though I have dropped about twenty pounds in the last year. I think she consider my weight like blubber on a bear, good for the survival mode during hard times. She is even giving me medicine to increase my appetite. That is a first.

 

My last serious attempt at losing weight came a few years ago.  I was the assistant principal of a school and the administrator challenged me to a weight-loss duel. Both of us were much too heavy and each of us was extremely competitive. I am much mellower now and hopefully have my values in order.  But in those days I would rather die than lose a competition of any sort. Call it pride, perfectionism, or whatever. But it was a contest of wills between Herb and me. Type A against Type A. The prize for the most weight loss during the twelve week period was $200, but it didn’t matter. We would have battled for nothing.

 

Every week was weigh-in time in a little store room at the school. Some of the teachers participated in the contest, but it was obvious from week one that it was going to be an ultimate duel between the administrators.

 

Herb went from double whoppers and French fries to lettuce, lean meat, and water. I ate skinny sandwiches and walked around the parking lot twenty times during the lunch period. The first week we tied at a 7 pound loss. We congratulated each other, secretly believing next week would be different. The following week I had lost 4 pounds and Herb lost 3. We kept a huge graph near the office for all to see. That was quite an incentive for both of us. We continually see-sawed for top honors. The week before the final weigh-in found me down 46 pounds and Herb down 47.

 

Herb emptied his pockets each Friday before weighing. I noticed he wore light-weight clothing on weigh-in days. I didn’t have any pockets to empty. However, when it was my turn, I took my shoes and stockings off and stood on my tip-toes, leaning whichever way was to my advantage.

 

The night before the final weigh-in was a stressful, no-sleeper. Now mind you, this was a desperate situation. Desperate people do desperate things. Winning a war, any war, takes strategy and determination.

 

I dug through the medicine cabinet and found some old diuretic pills, more commonly called “water pills.” Just one tiny white tablet kept me trudging endlessly to the bathroom.

 

The next day Herb weighed in first. He shed exactly 3 pounds for a total of 50. After hearing the news, I snuck in the store room and weighed myself privately. Pooh!  I had only lost 3 pounds for a total of 49.  In my mind, I pictured the victory celebration for Herb. I would be the meek loser, obliged to congratulate the winner.  Self-pity struck. All that starvation and then to lose by one pound. No way.

 

It was one of the most unscrupulous things I have ever done. Having had breast cancer surgery in 1986, I required a prosthesis for esthetic balance. So, with nobody looking, I removed that wobbly piece of pink plastic and stuck it in the drawer with the construction paper. I rationalized that it wasn’t cheating. After all, it wasn’t part of my original equipment.

 

After the monitor completed my official weigh-in, she announced that I had lost 4 pounds. It was a tie. Everybody was happy, including Herb and me. Neither of us had lost face. We shared the prize money and lived happily ever after.

 

Not really. I am sending him this column as a way of confession. He really won. I lost.