So, after the build-up of my little panic last week, everyone behaved and things went on without incident.
The weather gods obliged, and I finally met up with my old childhood friend last night. She looked exactly as I expected her to: tall, beautiful, well put-together. We sat and ordered food and then the conversation just flowed. There weren’t any awkward moments. We just talked and talked about things in our lives like we used to talk. She told me about her children, her husband’s struggle to find new work in a crap economy. She got personal, and told me about her own struggles with weight after pregnancy, fighting the school system to keep her LD son in the best programs, intimate moments of her own wedding. She told me about her mother’s recent passing. I could tell that it still really stung and that it helped her to talk about it.
I told her what I was up to: my work, my desire to be healthier. I told her about my sweetheart: how we met, what we have done over the years, why we still aren’t married. We reminisced about my family, as so much of our childhood was spent at my home and my grandparents’ home. She missed my grandparents as much as I did. She asked about my aunt and my mother and told me how much she loved them. At the end of the dinner we agreed to meet for dinner again in about a month’s time. I told her that I was sorry that we waited so long to do this, and that she was always really important to me. I found myself fighting tears. Luckily, I didn’t whimper, because that would be creepy.
I feel good and bad. Good that we took the first step. Bad, because why am I so emotional over one person? She isn’t this much of a wreck. How is this all in my head? How do I get unstuck? I also ate at a regular restaurant, right off the menu. I couldn’t bring myself to explaining my diet in detail at dinner. It was too soon. How odd that I can talk about my family in detail, but not a diet plan. So, I had a green salad, one bruschetta, broiled salmon about the size of a deck of cards, and steamed spinach and string-beans. I also had a glass and a half of wine (Dutch Courage). It seemed reasonable, but of course the drawback is you never know what hidden calories are in a meal prepared at a restaurant.
I think this might be the beginning of something big. We’ll see.
I am 36 and have been overweight for most of my life. There are much better things that define me, but till I work on this weight, it is the stinky fart in the room. So, I write this to keep accountable, to find inspiration in others, to rekindle the joy in myself.