The fat fad

I was reading a totally fascinating book over the weekend called The Man Who Ate Everything, by Jeffrey Steingarten, who seems to be a man who eats, literally, everything. I have just finished the chapter on a fat substitute called Olestra, which Steingarten says is ‘a miracle’, manna from heaven, the most ideal way to stop eating regular fats and lower calorie count and fat intake without losing any of the taste. He also has a delightful opinion on all fad diets, low-calorie foods and food substitutes: WHY? Which would have made me stand up and cheer for the man, except that I was too busy reading on. The author is happy with being 30 pounds overweight and, though I don’t really agree with that one, each to his or her own, right?

Fat is an issue almost everyone I know has a problem with. Most people want to lose it, while there are a few of a group who actually need to gain it. Being of the ilk of the former, I envy those who belong to the latter, but in a sort of resignedly accepting way that lets me be at peace with myself and my adipose. Meanwhile, I read what comes my way about fat, weight control, exercise and more, knowing full well that the last will never be on my to-do list, the former is what makes a lot of food palatable and the middle (in more ways than one) is something I must battle with for the rest of my life. In this, I have come to one vital conclusion: It’s actually spelled F-A-T-E, not F-A-T.

To be honest, it is my fault. Hormones apart, which are what cause weight swings for me, my doctor says, keeping slim is not that difficult. It just needs work. And that work is hard, indeed, with constant monitoring and tweaking of routines and schedules to eat just that perfect amount and do just that many perfect sit-ups or walk just that many perfect miles on the treadmill. Which means that many calories expended, yes, but also that much sweat and exertion and, eventually soap spent on the whole process as you bathe more often. Of course, the easy way would be to cut the calorie intake down to required levels, and thus lose avoirdupois, but also leach the body of not just important vitamins and minerals and other good stuff, but also of any desire to lose weight. Consequently, you may become thinner, but you also become grouchier, deprived as you are of the simple pleasures of life.

And then consider exercise. I do not hate it, if I must be totally honest. Once I start a regimen, I can keep it going, add music to make it more palatable, slip into some comfy togs (preferably in red to up the energy level) and get with it. But when do I squeeze it into a day that is already packed full of stuff on my to-do list, the same one I talked of earlier? In between housework – which I am still new at, so take longer to do – and career – which mandates my presence and not just my bashing away at a keyboard – commuting and a little bit of sleep, I need to slide in some physical exertion of the programmed kind as well? I did have all intentions to do so a couple of months ago. I found myself some decent looking and comfortable exercise shoes, sorted out some sweats from my vast but motley collection of clothes and resolved to wake up brighter and earlier. Then the monsoon arrived, and dampened (literally) all my ambitions.

The experts always say that all is healthy and happy in moderation and, depending on your genetics, body structure and metabolism, you can manage to achieve a certain shape and stay that way. Fashion gurus tell us that your size changes with age – your feet get bigger, your waist is never again that handspan it once was and those curves you used to crave are now yours, with a little to spare, too. Which means that I do not need to starve my gustatory senses or overstrain my perma-tired muscles, but just do a little of both with a treat (like dark chocolate) thrown in to reward my virtue. Which makes me feel incredibly like someone’s pet puppy, but if it works, hey, do you think I should go for it?