Although I never liked being fat, while I was fat, there was a big part of it I liked. In the same way that the best part of doing Cocaine is going to get it, the best part of being thin happens while being fat. I was fat, but I was always going to get thin, and the fantasy of being thin followed me around like a cotton-candy dog wagging its tail. The circus is always in town when you’re about to start your ‘program’.
Besides the positive merit of such hope, the thought did double duty by also slaying the hourly, even minute to minute, negative reminders of fatness. For sheer frequency of thought, the only thing that competes with it is sex. But sex is thrilling, and the weight thing strikes at the mind like a deep-twitch strobe light all day, flashing at every mirror, every thought of food, every store window you walk by, and every bit of snug of clothes. But, hey, the little dog is barking back, and every little yip sounds like Soon! Soon! Soon…and you get through the day.
Then one day you start the program, and it works. Vegetables, fruits, the occasional lean meat or fish. Walking, then running, then running trails. The months go by, the pounds fall off and a new creature is following me—a wolf. Confident, I strut through life, coiled and strong at every new breakthrough. People remark. I develop a disdain for fat people but try to remain gracious. Meanwhile, I feed the wolf—by keeping it hungry.
And, eventually, I realize that I am still always looking in mirrors and store windows, thinking about food, and thinking about how my clothes fit. And I twitch.
You see, you’re always on one side of the trade or the other, and you must invest every day. That’s where they get you.
Penultimate 