Buying bread at the supermarket is like shopping for your ideal self. I read not long ago (from a very funny fellow weight loss candidate) that an overweight person will regularly fill their basket with things that represent their ideal- veggies, fruit and fat free biscuits. For me, this sentiment really reveals itself in the bread isle.
Last week, whilst pondering my ideal body shape and which loaf of bread was going to do it for me, a gorgeous couple came up beside me. I quickly picked up the soy and linseed “women’s health loaf” and confidently placed it in my trolley whilst concurrently fantasising about making my way to pick up a “women’s health” magazine (which would of course be precariously balanced on top of my hand bag for every one to see). In reality, I actually just plodded around the corner and did a full loop back into the same bread isle where I threw out the overpriced health loaf and picked up my favourite heavy rye.
I must admit, I usually experience an irrational sense of satisfaction from the bread I purchase. Fluffy white speaks fatty, whilst dark rye speaks healthy, tanned, slim. In reality, my shopping basket doesn’t really reflect my size at all. But even this is a huge source of embarrassment for me. I am sure that those who see my trolley or what I eat think that I am one of those sad women stuffing their faces in the car on the way home but order light in the restaurant (we all know the ones). Should I just order a pizza and stop the confusion, I regularly ask myself. It’s much more comfortable to appraise someone as a fatty because of their poor eating habits- more uncomfortable is the fatty that “is trying”.
This is the same reason that you’ll rarely see me exercising down the street. Walking works well- but I feel self conscious traipsing around my suburb the size I am. I’ve heard others laugh and nudge each other when a fat woman in stretchy pants puffs their way down the street. “At least she’s doing something about it!” I’ll spit out at them. But in reality, I’m terrified of being that woman and having that sideways poor-thing-but-it’s-kind-of-amusing look from strangers. A kinder person may not even consider this a conundrum, but a gentle soul I am not- I am all too aware of the bitchy perils of being a young woman.
So I admit, yes, sesame sour dough was my undoing this week. It was heavy, sour and beige. Not my ideal and it certainly reinforces the same weight problem. I know I’ve gained weight this week and I know I’m running (ok, a slow amble) round in circles doing the same things and getting the same crappy results. I’m also aware of coming apart at the seams because I drank a bottle of wine last night and I’m a non-drinker (and a two pot screamer as my good friend phrased delicately).
So tomorrow I’ll weigh in reluctantly. But I will weigh in because I will not hide from the scales. I just hope they’ll be kind…