The final nail in the coffin of my opinion

Posted by E-George on August 3, 2008

I’m having to face the reality: Pregnancy has made me fat. And given me stretch marks, but that’s another discussion altogether. Pregnancy has made me fat because I fell into the comforting arms of being told to eat what made me comfortable, since this, “is the one time you can do what you want and get away with it.” Well, my dimpled thighs beg to differ. Now, I’m 8 months pregnant, and my weight has been jumping enough that even my midwife’s eyebrows raised. I recognize the difference between weight gained for pregnancy’s sake, weight that is the result of water retention, and weight gained for the purpose of growing love handles I should have OSHA-inspected safety rated. This weight I’ve gained considerably resides in the latter-most category.

I’m disappointed. In a lot of things, but mostly myself. I can see the incredibly long haul of extra work I’ve created for myself for the post-pregnancy weight-loss/fitness phase. Every woman dreams of being able to get back into her pre-pregnancy jeans, but my sister Emily is the only one I’ve ever known to be able to do that within the first 6 months or so. How’d she do it? She had to cut out all sugar from her diet to help control a thrush problem her baby had. No sugar. No sugar and she was back in her little tiny-ass pants looking like a tiny-ass supermodel with gorgeous blond hair, blue eyes, and a Gerber-model of a baby. An enviable result to what appears to be such a simple sacrifice. It’s a result that is theoretically achievable, given sufficient drive and motivation. And, assuming genetics don’t make it their mission to thwart me, regardless of my efforts.

This immediately raises the question: What really makes us fat? And, when I say “us” I’m not referring to both my ass cheeks, I’m referring to the broad collection of “us” who comprise the fat, obese, morbidly obese, and super obese population. According to the new darling of dietary research, Gary Taubes, sugar does. Or, more accurately, refined carbohydrates. Matthew has his book, Good Calories, Bad Calories, and when he’s done reading it, it’s on my required reading list. It vindicates Adkins. It supports South Beach. It thrills Matthew. It crushes me. If you have 72 minutes, here’s a lecture he gave on February 6 of this year at Stevens Institute of Technology. Unfortunately, there is very little [no] room for argument given his research and material.

Where does one do after learning more about the truth?  Well, for myself, I cried.   Actually, I bawled like I’d lost something precious.  I cried because the last bastion of  power over eating the foods I “like” or “prefer” is gone.  Sure, I can choose to eat what I want still, but in the back of my mind will be the ice-pick of knowing better stabbing me.  So, now the only decision is to capitulate.  To surrender to a life without refined carbohydrates of any sort.  To say, “No, thank you” every time my brain says, “Go for it, just this once.” To recognize that very nearly every eating preference that I have held until now has to be reprogrammed.  To learn how to look at a plate of meat and broccoli with enjoyment (or even ambivalence) instead of dread and sadness.

There are people who are going to read this and scoff at me, thinking that I’m a whiny bitchass.  Who wouldn’t want to eat giant piles of meat?  From their perspective and food preferences, anyone who feels differently is, well, stupid, and now they have Gary Taubes helping them say so.  But, there’s no denying that, for me, this is going to be hard work. Frustrating work.  So, I might as well get to it now instead of waiting until I can use the new baby as an excuse to continue in the old rutted way of behaving.

Fare thee well, Macaroni & Cheese.  Thou has long been my companion, but now I must kick thee to the curb, for we shall ne’r again meet lest it be in battle.

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