A low-sadness diet

I often see this middle-aged woman at the Y, jogging at a good clip around the track. Her face is red, she is sweating, and she does not look happy. She wears tight, stylish running gear that shows every bulge and fold, so I can’t help noticing her muffin top. In fact, I’ve observed it over months, even years, expecting it to shrink with all that regular, strenuous effort, but it never does.

I haven’t been on the track for months because a plantar fasciitis is dogging my right heel. I stay downstairs for the elliptical trainer or the yoga class. But yesterday I went up to walk a few laps and there she was, red-faced, sweating, determined. And noticeably fatter.

This is not encouraging to those of us who struggle to control our weight. The sweating lady is my image of Sisyphus, pushing the eternal boulder up the eternal hill. For me, like this woman, weight is a constant battle that we’re losing.

We are not alone. I should be grateful that my weight is only about average for the increasingly hefty American woman. It could be worse, and I daily see many people who are much higher up the scale. That makes me sad because I know that for many overweight people the fat is wrapped around sadness.

If only we could be more like Precious Ramotswe, heroine of Alexander McCall Smith’s Number One Ladies’ Detective Agency novels (now a stunning HBO series directed by Anthony Minghella, available on DVD). Mma Ramotswe carries her “traditional build” with the same pride she takes in her country, Botswana.

Maybe I could too if my folds weren’t so, well, bulgy. And if they didn’t keep growing, despite all my efforts to eat healthily and exercise. The failure makes me sad, and sadness makes me want to eat more than I should, which is, apparently, an absolutely minuscule amount of food. So does fear—including the fear of obesity. And loneliness. I am writing under the influence of a piece of the fried chicken I bought the other evening to console myself while my sweetie is away. That 8-piece box came with one supersize serving of self-loathing.

I’m looking for practices that will bring me to a Franciscan peace about weight: the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.

Maybe this time my diet will start with eliminating excess sadness in my life, beginning with sadness about my weight. There are plenty of things worth being sad about but for me, being fat need not be one of them. And I vow not to pity fellow fatties because what good does that do them or me?

Barbara Brown Taylor, in An Altar in the World, prescribes praying naked in front of a mirror when you’re loathing your body. Practice a little reverence for your soul’s address on this earth.

I may try that but don’t you dare imagine me doing it!