grumbled.
The doctor smiled at me— a very disarming grin. “Let’s forget about fat or thin for a minute,” he said. “If you guys already know the calorie counts of everything, and what a serving of pasta’s supposed to look like, then I’m sure you all know that most diets don’t work. Not over the long term, anyhow.”
Now he had our attention. It was true, we’d all figured this out (from bitter personal experiences, in most cases), but to hear an authority figure, a doctor, a doctor who was running a weight-loss program say it… well, that was practically heresy. I half expected security guards to come rushing through the door and drag him off to be re-brainwashed.
“I think,” he continued, “that we’ll all have much better luck— and we’ll be happier— if we think instead about small lifestyle changes— little things that we can do every day that won’t prove unsustainable over the long term. If we think about getting healthier, and feeling happier with ourselves, instead of looking like Courteney…”
He looked at me, eyebrows raised.
“Cox,” I supplied. “Actually, Cox-Arquette. She got married.”
“Right. Her. Forget her. Let’s concentrate on the attainable, instead. And I promise that nobody here will treat you like you’re stupid, no matter what your size is.”
I found I was touched in spite of myself. The guy was actually making sense. Better yet, he wasn’t talking down to us. It was… well, revolutionary, really.
The nurse gave us one last disgruntled glance and scurried away. The doctor closed the door and took a seat. “I’d like to do an exercise with you,” he said. He looked around the table. “How many of you ever eat when you’re not hungry?”
Dead silence. I closed my eyes. Emotional eating. I’d been through this lecture, too.
“How many of you eat breakfast, and then maybe you come to the office and there’s a box of doughnuts and they look good and you’ll have one just because they’re there?”
More silence. “Dunkin’ Donuts or Krispy Kremes?” I finally asked.
The doctor pursed his full lips. “I hadn’t thought about it.”
“Well, it makes a difference,” I said.
“Dunkin’ Donuts,” he said.
“Chocolate? Jelly? Glazed that somebody from Accounting ripped in half, so there’s only half a doughnut left?”
“Krispy Kremes are better,” said Bonnie.
“Especially the warm ones,” said Esther.
I licked my lips.
“The last time I had doughnuts,” said Esther, “someone brought them to work, just like we’re talking about, and I picked out one that looked like a Boston cream… you know, it had the chocolate on top?”
We nodded. We all probably knew how to recognize a Boston cream doughnut on sight.
“Then I bit into it,” Esther continued, “and it was…” Her lips curled. “Lemon.”
“Ick,” said Bonnie. “I hate lemon!”
“Okay,” said the doctor, laughing. “My point is, they could be the best doughnuts in the world. They could be the Platonic ideal of doughnut-ness. But if you’ve already had breakfast, and you aren’t really hungry, ideally, you should be able to walk right by.”
We thought about this for a minute. “As if,” Lily finally said.
“Maybe you could try telling yourself that when you are really hungry, if what you’re really hungry for is a doughnut, then you can go get one.”
We thought again. “Nope,” said Lily. “I’m still eating the free doughnuts.”
“And how do you know what you’re really hungry for?” asked Bonnie. “Like, me… I’m always hungry for the stuff I know I shouldn’t be eating. But, like, give me a bag of baby carrots and I’m all, like, whatever.”
“Did you ever try boiling them and mashing them with ginger and orange rind?” asked Lily. Bonnie wrinkled her nose.
“I don’t like carrots,” said Anita, “but I do like butternut squash.”
“That’s not a vegetable, though. It’s a starch,” I said.
Anita looked
The doctor smiled at me— a very disarming grin. “Let’s forget about fat or thin for a minute,” he said. “If you guys already know the calorie counts of everything, and what a serving of pasta’s supposed to look like, then I’m sure you all know that most diets don’t work. Not over the long term, anyhow.”
Now he had our attention. It was true, we’d all figured this out (from bitter personal experiences, in most cases), but to hear an authority figure, a doctor, a doctor who was running a weight-loss program say it… well, that was practically heresy. I half expected security guards to come rushing through the door and drag him off to be re-brainwashed.
“I think,” he continued, “that we’ll all have much better luck— and we’ll be happier— if we think instead about small lifestyle changes— little things that we can do every day that won’t prove unsustainable over the long term. If we think about getting healthier, and feeling happier with ourselves, instead of looking like Courteney…”
He looked at me, eyebrows raised.
“Cox,” I supplied. “Actually, Cox-Arquette. She got married.”
“Right. Her. Forget her. Let’s concentrate on the attainable, instead. And I promise that nobody here will treat you like you’re stupid, no matter what your size is.”
I found I was touched in spite of myself. The guy was actually making sense. Better yet, he wasn’t talking down to us. It was… well, revolutionary, really.
The nurse gave us one last disgruntled glance and scurried away. The doctor closed the door and took a seat. “I’d like to do an exercise with you,” he said. He looked around the table. “How many of you ever eat when you’re not hungry?”
Dead silence. I closed my eyes. Emotional eating. I’d been through this lecture, too.
“How many of you eat breakfast, and then maybe you come to the office and there’s a box of doughnuts and they look good and you’ll have one just because they’re there?”
More silence. “Dunkin’ Donuts or Krispy Kremes?” I finally asked.
The doctor pursed his full lips. “I hadn’t thought about it.”
“Well, it makes a difference,” I said.
“Dunkin’ Donuts,” he said.
“Chocolate? Jelly? Glazed that somebody from Accounting ripped in half, so there’s only half a doughnut left?”
“Krispy Kremes are better,” said Bonnie.
“Especially the warm ones,” said Esther.
I licked my lips.
“The last time I had doughnuts,” said Esther, “someone brought them to work, just like we’re talking about, and I picked out one that looked like a Boston cream… you know, it had the chocolate on top?”
We nodded. We all probably knew how to recognize a Boston cream doughnut on sight.
“Then I bit into it,” Esther continued, “and it was…” Her lips curled. “Lemon.”
“Ick,” said Bonnie. “I hate lemon!”
“Okay,” said the doctor, laughing. “My point is, they could be the best doughnuts in the world. They could be the Platonic ideal of doughnut-ness. But if you’ve already had breakfast, and you aren’t really hungry, ideally, you should be able to walk right by.”
We thought about this for a minute. “As if,” Lily finally said.
“Maybe you could try telling yourself that when you are really hungry, if what you’re really hungry for is a doughnut, then you can go get one.”
We thought again. “Nope,” said Lily. “I’m still eating the free doughnuts.”
“And how do you know what you’re really hungry for?” asked Bonnie. “Like, me… I’m always hungry for the stuff I know I shouldn’t be eating. But, like, give me a bag of baby carrots and I’m all, like, whatever.”
“Did you ever try boiling them and mashing them with ginger and orange rind?” asked Lily. Bonnie wrinkled her nose.
“I don’t like carrots,” said Anita, “but I do like butternut squash.”
“That’s not a vegetable, though. It’s a starch,” I said.
Anita looked
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