I have an eating disorder. It’s not what you think, my problem is that I can’t stop and don’t want to, even when I’m full. Food is my great love and over the years I have devoted an enormous amount of time and calories to this happy pursuit. Lots of people like to eat, but most are able to control their portions, their choices, or at the very least, themselves. The alternative to loss of control when it comes to noshing on tasty fare, is the eventual weight gain. Well, here’s the thing, I don’t really gain all that much weight. I know, cry me a river, I have a good metabolism, but as I get older the choice between being healthy and eating deliciously bad food stops being a “should” problem and becomes a “must” problem.
I typically gain or lose five pounds max. I don’t know why this is, but it’s been that way since high school and my body is pretty much the same size as always. True, I might lose some lean muscle mass due to inactivity when I am lazy for a long period, but overall, my body size stays about the same. The strangest thing about this is that I do eat crap, lots and lots of carbs and random bad food choices. I have actually gone entire days in which the only thing I ate were carbs. Imagine a day that begins with Lucky Charms or chocolate chip pancakes, a lunch of mashed potatoes, a dinner of risotto and a snack of popcorn. That should probably make me feel bad about myself, but when I get on the scale and I weigh the same, all the bad goes away.
My metabolism has always been a gift, but about 15 years ago my doctor diagnosed me with Hypothyroidism. Hypo, as opposed to hyperthyroidism is really not so big a deal. No major health risks, I’m just a little more tired, intolerant to heat and cold, my big toenail keeps falling off (gross, I know), and oh yeah, I have a slower metabolism. So what the hell? If I’m eating fried chicken now then if I didn’t have this stupid thyroid thing, would I finally be at my goal weight? It’s a blissful, happy place in my cluttered mind, but since my thyroid levels are not that off base, I stopped taking the medication years ago and just live with it.
So now here I am, rapidly approaching the hill to 40 and still eating and living like I’m 25. I may look the same in some ways, but I am undoubtedly doing irrevocable harm to my physical well-being with each gallon of salt consumed and pile of mashed potatoes devoured. I think this is where will power and self-control win out over good genes and appearance. I have let myself get in physically poor condition because I still look okay on the outside. Whereas an obese person has physical cues to warn them and motivate them, I allow myself to be lulled into an unhealthy place by focusing on the superficial.
Many victims of diabetes worse side effects look in shape. They are thin, they seem healthy, but they lose limbs, go blind, and ultimately lose their lives, but they’re skinny, so it’s all okay. We are so consistently motivated by fat or thin, that we forget about inner health. The last time I ran on a treadmill at the gym, I was motivated and humiliated because the girl I purposely ran next to so that I would not look as bad at running as I am, kicked my ass in both time and speed and she weighed at least 100lbs more than me. Shallow as it sounds, I was shocked to realize that girl weighing so much more than me, was actually so much more fit than me.
So yes, I still eat poorly sometimes and I rely on whatever good genes biology handed me to counteract the effect, but it’s just a mirage. Am I skinny or healthy, and why do more doctors and health professionals not make the distinction. Of course, obesity is always going to carry more risks, but if a girl weighing 225lbs can run six miles, while I’m panting through three, then clearly there is something wrong with the way we define health.
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