self-proclaimed news junkie and like to think I know everything before others, and yet my mother—a decidedly non–news junkie—called
me
with
the news.
“Jennifer! Did you see the news on Channel 5? They said those diet drugs cause heart damage. They’re pulling them off the market!”
I wasn’t too worried at first. My mom tended to be kind of alarmist about this kind of thing—not to mention not very accurate. Surely she was wrong; surely the report referred to another kind of diet drug. After all, my doctor had suggested these pills. They weren’t dangerous! There had to be a mistake.
There was no mistake. The makers of fen-phen were pulling the drugs off the market after several reports of heart valve damage. Some people had even died.
My immediate reaction was to go into self-protection mode.
Look at how much weight you have lost,
I told myself.
You don’t need drugs anymore! You’ve started to exercise, you’ve cut down on bad foods, you can do this! The rest of the weight will come off easily!
It never once occurred to me to be worried about my health. I was twenty-five and felt invincible. My weight—at least in my warped way of thinking—had nothing to do with health and everything to do with vanity. Never mind that I had just spent eight months taking a combination of drugs that some claimed did permanent damage to their hearts. I felt fine! No need to worry about that.
No, my immediate concern was to ensure my future weight loss, to make sure I could continue to drop pounds. And for a little while, I did. I kept up the exercise, and I tried to stay with the same eating habits. Slowly the overwhelming hunger started to creep back in, no matter how hard I pushed it away. I managed to beat it back and maintain what I had lost for about a year. But eventually I succumbed to my never-ending cravings for all things bad. The negativity in my mind really started to do a number on me:
You can’t do this by yourself. You tried for years, and look where it got you. The only time you really lostweight was when you had the drugs, when you had help. Don’t even try, you will fail.
The weight came back, and then some. Sure I tried to beat it. Every day I once again started something new, some different way to take control, to do it myself. For example, I once signed up for Weight Watchers. I liked the thought of using everyday, normal food, just in moderation. I had such a limited palate, I thought this would be the eating plan that would work for me. I showed up for the first meeting at the Baptist church in my small town. There wasn’t anyone in the room younger than fifty. Embarrassed, I weighed in, in front of everyone, and then sat for the group discussion. All the talk focused around cooking for families and eating sensibly at work. No one talked about obsessing every minute of every day about what they ate. Not one person offered up that they stuffed themselves until they were sick, hiding food in their homes and their cars. I had absolutely nothing in common with the group, and worse, I felt like some sort of freak. I didn’t go back.
Another example: When I worked at the radio station, employees were offered free gym memberships through one of its sponsors. I happily signed up, thinking this would be it, this would be what motivated me, what made me turn the corner. As part of the sign-up, I got a free session with a trainer. Great! An expert who could tell me exactly what I needed to do! I was a let’s-make-a-plan kind of girl, and this was going to be just the plan I needed.
The trainer was a nineteen-year-old stud named Ricky. He had a hard body and a killer smile, and I was beyond mortified. To make matters worse he acted as though he drew theshort straw by having to work with the big fat radio girl. He weighed me (kill me now) and took my body fat measurements (okay, just shoot me). And then he started going over strength-training exercises. Strength training? Did I look like I needed
me
with
the news.
“Jennifer! Did you see the news on Channel 5? They said those diet drugs cause heart damage. They’re pulling them off the market!”
I wasn’t too worried at first. My mom tended to be kind of alarmist about this kind of thing—not to mention not very accurate. Surely she was wrong; surely the report referred to another kind of diet drug. After all, my doctor had suggested these pills. They weren’t dangerous! There had to be a mistake.
There was no mistake. The makers of fen-phen were pulling the drugs off the market after several reports of heart valve damage. Some people had even died.
My immediate reaction was to go into self-protection mode.
Look at how much weight you have lost,
I told myself.
You don’t need drugs anymore! You’ve started to exercise, you’ve cut down on bad foods, you can do this! The rest of the weight will come off easily!
It never once occurred to me to be worried about my health. I was twenty-five and felt invincible. My weight—at least in my warped way of thinking—had nothing to do with health and everything to do with vanity. Never mind that I had just spent eight months taking a combination of drugs that some claimed did permanent damage to their hearts. I felt fine! No need to worry about that.
No, my immediate concern was to ensure my future weight loss, to make sure I could continue to drop pounds. And for a little while, I did. I kept up the exercise, and I tried to stay with the same eating habits. Slowly the overwhelming hunger started to creep back in, no matter how hard I pushed it away. I managed to beat it back and maintain what I had lost for about a year. But eventually I succumbed to my never-ending cravings for all things bad. The negativity in my mind really started to do a number on me:
You can’t do this by yourself. You tried for years, and look where it got you. The only time you really lostweight was when you had the drugs, when you had help. Don’t even try, you will fail.
The weight came back, and then some. Sure I tried to beat it. Every day I once again started something new, some different way to take control, to do it myself. For example, I once signed up for Weight Watchers. I liked the thought of using everyday, normal food, just in moderation. I had such a limited palate, I thought this would be the eating plan that would work for me. I showed up for the first meeting at the Baptist church in my small town. There wasn’t anyone in the room younger than fifty. Embarrassed, I weighed in, in front of everyone, and then sat for the group discussion. All the talk focused around cooking for families and eating sensibly at work. No one talked about obsessing every minute of every day about what they ate. Not one person offered up that they stuffed themselves until they were sick, hiding food in their homes and their cars. I had absolutely nothing in common with the group, and worse, I felt like some sort of freak. I didn’t go back.
Another example: When I worked at the radio station, employees were offered free gym memberships through one of its sponsors. I happily signed up, thinking this would be it, this would be what motivated me, what made me turn the corner. As part of the sign-up, I got a free session with a trainer. Great! An expert who could tell me exactly what I needed to do! I was a let’s-make-a-plan kind of girl, and this was going to be just the plan I needed.
The trainer was a nineteen-year-old stud named Ricky. He had a hard body and a killer smile, and I was beyond mortified. To make matters worse he acted as though he drew theshort straw by having to work with the big fat radio girl. He weighed me (kill me now) and took my body fat measurements (okay, just shoot me). And then he started going over strength-training exercises. Strength training? Did I look like I needed
Similar Books
