by Robin Brande
22
Day 28, Wednesday, September 17
Found some good research on the Tarahumara Indian tribe in northern Mexico. They're this tribe of supersleek, superfast runners. Until pretty recently they've lived off of hunting (raccoons?) and a few crops like corn, beans, and squash, but lately they've also started eating ramen noodles, potato chips, and soda. And guess what? Suddenly diabetes, obesity, heart disease, etc.
Same in some other native cultures I've been looking into. The older generation--people who grew up on mostly rice or potatoes or corn, with lots of veggies on the side--are much, much healthier than their children, who grew up eating fast food and now have all these "modern" problems like high blood pressure, etc.
Sometimes it feels like I'm not breaking any new ground at all. There have been all sorts of scientists in the last few decades trying to point out that a natural diet--eating whole foods that are actually identifiable as something that comes out of nature instead of a factory or some food company's research lab--is what's good for the body. Everyone seems to agree that junk food is bad.
But it tastes so good. I keep coming back to that. It's not like you're hammering yourself on the head and someone says to you, "Why don't you just stop?" And then you do and it feels so good.
The fact is candy bars taste great. As do chips and pizza and ice cream and everything else that makes up a modern diet.
It wasn't just the caffeine and artificial sweeteners that were hard to come off of. I swear I had just as bad withdrawals from giving up everything else. Sugar feels very, very good. Some days it seems like it's the only thing that can make you happy.
But I'll admit that now that I've been away from it all for almost a month, I am feeling a lot better. I don't get headaches, I'm not so tired all the time, and I definitely don't feel as fat. Don't get me wrong--I have a long way to go. But I have noticed the improvement.
It's just that sometimes having a few carrots doesn't quite do it for me the way a bag of Doritos or a dozen Oreos used to. I think part of it is psychological--eating real food feels so serious, whereas junk food felt fun.
But it's not fun how it looks on you afterward. I guess that's the point I need to focus on. And the fact that I definitely do have a lot more energy now than I ever used to.
But no wonder all those other scientists have had a hard time convincing us to stop eating all the goodies. Nothing says love like a cookie.
23
Day 38, Saturday, September 27
Saturday morning feast for the family:
Omelets with mushrooms, onion, green pepper, tomatoes, a little basil, a little oregano. Potatoes and onions sauteed in just water--that actually works. Fresh-squeezed orange juice. Homemade bread with honey. Everyone sufficiently bloated.
Amanda showed up a little before ten.
"Nice tie, Petey," she said, giving it a tug. It's Peter's and my compromise--whenever he's my waiter he can wear a T-shirt and shorts as long as they're clean, but he also has to wear a tie. This morning he had on the one with blue and green frogs all over it. I think I gave that tie to my dad when I was about five.
"So how's my replacement doing?" Amanda asked.
"Excellent," I said. "He doesn't really have your eye for decoration, but he's great at waiting and busing tables. Don't you think so?" I asked Peter.
He shrugged, but I could see he was pleased. He's always a little shy around Amanda--I think he's got a big crush.
As soon as we got to my room, Amanda turned her attention to me. "Okay, Grandma, that's it. I'm here on an intervention. I've taken about all of this I can. Put your shoes on and let's go."
"What are you talking about?"
"We're going shopping."
"No, we're not."
"You don't have a choice," she said. "Get in the car."
I hate shopping possibly more than anything in the world, and Amanda knows it. Nothing ever fits, I always look fat--no, thank you.
But I knew she wouldn't put up with those excuses, so I had to stick to science.
"Hominins didn't have malls."
"Tough," Amanda said. "Let's go."
"They didn't even have clothes," I pointed out.
"They also didn't have nice police officers to arrest them for public indecency."
"Besides," I said, "I think I should keep it real and make my own clothes."
"Cat, the only thing I've ever seen you sew was that purse you made out of a pillowcase in eighth grade. And no offense, but it was really hideous."
"I can learn."
"You can also stop being such a lunatic," Amanda said. "Honestly, I worry about you."
"I'm just trying to play it by the book."
"How about this book?" Amanda said. "How about the book where my best friend, who is a mere seventeen, is starting to remind me of my grandmother, who never bought a new stitch of clothing after she was about ... oh, twenty-two, and even though at eighty she weighed about half what she did when she was younger, she kept wearing the same pants but just hiked them up to her boobs and double-wrapped her belt and thought she looked fine and dandy. How about that story?"
"I don't care for that story."
"Well, then, we're going to do something about it. Because your clothes are starting to look just as frightening as hers."
I was running out of arguments. "It's daytime," I tried. "I'd have to walk, and I don't really have time today--"
"Distance exception. I swear, Kitty Cat, if you don't start acting reasonably in the next five minutes, I'm going to throw a rope over you and drag you to the mall and dress you in nothing but miniskirts and fishnets. Is that what you want?"
I tried to stare her down, but Amanda always wins at that. I groaned. "Fine."
But I still felt conspicuous driving around where anyone could see me. What if Mr. Fizer decided to go to the mall today? How was I going to explain myself? At least Amanda let me turn the stereo off so I didn't have that technology violation on my conscience.
As we got closer to the mall, I scrunched down in my seat so no one would see me.
Amanda shook her head. "You are really taking this too far."
"I'm just trying to do it right. I shouldn't even be here."
"You just don't like to shop," Amanda said. "Besides, you're the one who makes up all the rules for your project, right? No one's telling you how to do this."
"But it's bigger than that," I said. "I want to win. And that means being really, really careful."
"I understand that," Amanda said, negotiating the turn into the parking lot. "I'm just saying you can probably win without completely losing your grip on reality."
I considered that for a moment. I looked up at her from where I was crouched against the door. "Do you really think I'm acting weird?"
"Ha! You mean other than what you're doing right now? How about the fact that you refuse to answer the phone or wear a watch or even look at a text message anymore? And you've given up watching all those science and cooking shows I know you adore, even though no one but you is ever going to check up on what you're doing."
"I have to be honest--"
"And if I'm not mistaken," Amanda continued, "I believe that was olive oil you had smeared all over yourself yesterday instead of lotion--"
"It's more natural--"
"It's a salad dressing. Come on, Cat! Why are you torturing yourself like this? Just so you can prove something to Matt? Is it really worth it?"
"That's not why I'm doing it."
"Right. We just met, so I don't know you at all."
Amanda parked the car. I straightened up in my seat, and we both sat there for a minute without talking. Then I had to give in.
"That's not the only reason I'm doing it."
"I know." Amanda gave my arm a little poke. "Just promise me you won't stop talking because your people only knew how to grunt. I'm sure they figured out some sort of hand signals." Then she used hand signals of her own. "You're weird, but I love you."
I s
miled and signed back, "Thank you."
"Let's go."
The mall had only just opened, so there wasn't much of a crowd yet. Amanda guided me into American Edge, where the sound system was blasting so loudly I thought my eardrums would melt. Just over a month without music, and it's like my ears have already closed up from disuse.
I shouted above the noise, "I really can't handle this right now."
Amanda, to her credit, didn't complain. She just linked her arm in mine and pulled me to the next store.
Much better. Still music, but at a human level.
"Okay," Amanda said, "here's what I need to see: at least two pairs of pants, maybe a skirt if you're feeling kicky, and three or four decent-looking tops. Think you can handle that?"
"I can't promise."
But Amanda is good. They should give her a black belt in shopping. She's fast, she's efficient, and she's all about the sale rack.
It only took half an hour to accomplish her mission. While I waited in the dressing room, Amanda brought in pants and tops in various sizes, since we really didn't know what size I am anymore.
"I wasn't going to ask," Amanda said, "but just out of curiosity--how much weight have you lost?"
"I don't know. I can't use a scale--technology."
Amanda rolled her eyes.
"Anyway, I decided I'm only going to weigh myself when I'm at Jackie's office."
"Why? Here." She passed me three pairs of the same pants, all different sizes. "I mean, you know you've lost weight, right? Why not enjoy knowing how much?"
"Just a minute." I didn't want to yell it over the top of the dressing room in case anyone was within listening distance, so I waited until I found the right size and pulled the pants on. I opened the door.
"Cute!" Amanda said. "Do you see how cute those are?"
I motioned for her to come closer. "I'm not weighing myself because anytime I've been on a diet, whenever I weigh myself I'm either depressed that I've lost so little--which makes me want to eat--or I'm happy that I've lost so much--which makes me want to eat."
"Oh."
"Right. So I'm trying to work around that particular defect, and avoid it as long as I can."
"Okay, fine," she said. "But would you look at yourself in those pants and tell me you do not look twenty times better?"
I closed myself in the dressing room again and took a good honest look in the mirror.
Wow. Not a huge wow, but a mini one, at least. The pants actually fit--plus they were girl pants. I usually wear men's Levi's.
"Well?" Amanda called.
"Yes."
"Yes, you look great? Yes, I'm a genius? What?" I opened the door and smiled. "Thank you." Amanda beamed. "Next time don't fight me so much." Her cell phone rang. I've missed that sound.
"Hi, sweetie." She listened for a moment. "Aw, really? I'm sorry. We'll come get you. When will you be done?"
She flicked the phone closed. "I know you'd love to stay here and shop all day, but bad news. Jordan's car died on the way to his swim meet. He said he'll be done pretty soon. We need to go pick him up."
"Okay, I'll just walk home." Even though the minute I said it, I realized that would take me hours.
Amanda laughed. "Nice try. You're coming with me."
"It's the swim team," I pointed out. "As in Matt?"
"You're wearing your special new force-field pants now. He won't even be able to see you."
24
I love the smell of a pool. I don't know what it is--the chemicals, the sunscreen, the wet hair, whatever. I know I'm weird. My nose just has this thing for it.
Hardly anybody knows it, but I used to be on the swim team. Matt and me. We both joined the city league when we were eight, and from then on, every summer we'd ride our bikes together to the neighborhood pool for the morning practice, then stay in the water all day racing each other and swimming laps and drills. Matt's specialty was freestyle, mine was butterfly. Both of us were pretty good. I even won some medals over the years. Matt won more.
Somehow I thought maybe I could sneak in there with Amanda today and not have to see him. But he was just at that moment climbing out of the pool, and so of course I had to look.
If he were a nice guy, I suppose I'd think he has a nice body. Big shoulders, good tan, tight stomach, muscular thighs--the kinds of things you don't normally notice under those jeans and plain T-shirts he always wears. Plus when his hair's wet from the pool it looks all dark and spiky and thick, and somehow makes his face seem almost--I hate to say it--handsome. He has these dark eyes and even a little bit of stubble if he goes a couple of days without shaving. I suppose if anyone wanted to look at him separately from his personality--which isn't possible, because he's a pig--they might actually think he's hot.
Jordan spotted us and came over to say hi while he waited for his next heat.
"You're dripping on me!" Amanda complained, which made Jordan give her a big wet bear hug. He started going for me, too, but I put my hands up.
"It's almost over," Jordan said. "Just a few more races."
Amanda and I grabbed a couple of empty plastic chairs.
There weren't that many people there--just a few parents and some boyfriends and girlfriends of the swimmers. I didn't see Matt's parents. No surprise, since they hardly ever came when we were younger.
Next up was the IM--the individual medley. Both Jordan and Matt were competing, along with four other swimmers. I couldn't help it--I was curious. I had to watch.
The IM was my event, too. One lap of each--butter, back, breast, and free. All out, full power, showing what you can do in every stroke. Matt and I used to race each other in that all the time. I even used to beat him when we were little.
I didn't realize until that moment how much I actually miss it--that feeling of freedom and power and strength in the water. I have these big arms and shoulders, and I always loved the way they felt during a good long workout or race. Some girls are made for running, with their skinny little bodies and total lack of boobage, but I always knew I was made for swimming. There has to be an evolutionary reason for these shoulders.
But that was then, this is now. I can't even imagine what I'd look like in a bathing suit anymore. I was already starting to chunk out too much the last time I wore one--I just didn't want to admit it until someone else pointed it out.
The swimmers sprinted the last length of the pool. And Matt won, of course. Jordan came in a close second. Jordan shook Matt's hand and then got out of the pool to go talk to some other guy wearing the team swimsuit.
I saw Jordan point over at us. I figured he was showing off his girlfriend.
Wrong. The two of them came over, and Jordan said, "Cat, this is Greg. Greg, Cat."
Greg leaned over, dripping on me, and shook my hand. I sort of looked away, since he was wearing just his Speedo.
Wait a minute, I thought. Greg?
Amanda realized it, too. She passed me a look. This was the guy Jordan had wanted to invite on that surprise double date back at the start of school.
I could see why he thought Greg might be my type. The guy is big. Not entirely muscular big--there's some definite flab going on. Not that I should talk, but I noticed it.
I acted appropriately cool. "Amanda, I really need to get back. I have a lot of homework today."
"Yeah," Greg said, "Jordan says you're a real brain."
I smiled in what I thought was a polite but uninterested way. "Not really. I have to work at it."
Greg folded his big arms over his big chest. "I heard you're really good at math."
"Sort of."
"Come on, Cat," Jordan said. "Stop acting so modest. She's at the top of our class--math, science--"
I noticed Matt out of the corner of my eye, watching us.
"Speaking of math," I said, "I've got about twenty curve sketches to do for Calc. I really have to go."
But that Greg guy couldn't take a hint. "Hey, I heard you used to swim."
I shot Jordan a look. He
shrugged innocently. I looked past him to Matt, who was now talking to their coach.
"Bet you were killer," Greg said. "What was your stroke?" "Butter," I mumbled.
Greg grinned. "Hey, me too. Why'd you stop?"
As if that were any of his business! I cleared my throat and subtly pressed my leg against Amanda's.
She understood perfectly. "Sweetie, we should probably get going," she told Jordan. "I promised Cat I'd get her back."
"Okay, I'm just going to rinse off and change," he said.
Greg felt compelled to shake my hand again--what is it with guys? "It was really nice meeting you."
"Yeah," I lied. "You too." I just wanted him to go away. Matt wasn't staring at us anymore, but the whole thing still made me feel really uncomfortable.
"What's going on?" I demanded as soon as Amanda and I were alone. "Was this a trick to make me meet that guy?"
Amanda held up her hand. "I swear. No tricks." She picked at a loose thread on her sleeve. "But ... what did you think of him?"
"Not much."
"Not too bad-looking," Amanda said.
"Not interested," I answered firmly.
Matt passed in front of us, still in his Speedo. He didn't look at me, I didn't look at him. He crossed to the far end of the pool and retrieved his towel. Then he passed in front of me again, but this time turned his head just enough to make eye contact.
Which proved I was watching him. Which I instantly fixed by looking away.
I know I was supposed to say, "Good race, Matt," or, "Congratulations," but forget it. I'm sure Matt McKinney is not starving for attention or accolades. He didn't need me to tell him he had just won the race.
"Not bad," Amanda said when Matt was far enough away. "He's filling out nicely. Like the legs."
"Hate the person."
"Well," Amanda agreed, "yeah."
We wandered to the parking lot to wait for Jordan. He and Greg came out together.
For a tense moment, I thought Jordan might try to invite Greg along with us, but to my relief Greg got into his own car and left. But not before saying goodbye to me again.