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生命不能承受之“重”

作者:admin 发表于:2016-09-12   点击: 评论: 0

  Skinny Bones Jones, Twig, Stick and Monkey Arms were some of the nicer names the kids at school called me when I was a kid. Thin didn’t begin to describe my appearance. I was an extremely picky eater with the metabolism of a hummingbird. I was so slight in stature, I looked like a good stiff wind could blow me over. A boy at school once took a look at me and asked,“Are those strings or legs?”

  Being scrawny and skeletal was made even worse by the fact that my mother was plumply overweight. Mom had me late in life, so she was firmly in middle age by the time I was old enough to walk. She battled her bulge by occasionally following Weight Watchers and exercising alongside Jack LaLanne. Doing 500 jumping jacks, 100 legs lifts and 25 push-ups were soon followed by lunches of cottage cheese with canned beets, last night’s leftover mashed potatoes, then enjoying a large bowl of rocky road ice cream while watching Days of Our Lives. By the time I was eight, Mom gave up on ever getting her pre-four-children-body back, so she threw out the Weight Watchers books and our bathroom scale in one last act of suburban, house-wifely defiance, forcing me to monitor my growth and weight gain at other people’s houses. And when classmates asked me to come to their house to play, my first question wasn’t, Do you own a Barbie Dreamhouse? but Do you have a scale?

  The scale was my Gypsy, my magic carpet ride, my hope, my curse. Its numbers coulddash my dreams, leave me flat, or give me hopeful news. I’d jump on it with abandon, fully clothed , wearing sneakers, marveling at the spinning dial that swung back and forth like a pendulum until it settled on my true weight. If I gained a pound or two, I was elated and I’d go home later, triumphant.

  “Mom, I weighed myself at Kerry’s house. I’m 60 pounds!” The number was always a revelation. A joy. A cause for celebration.

  Somehow, I grew from a scrawny beanstalk of a child into a lithe and extremely lean teen. By the age of 20, I finally reached five-feet, six-anda-half inches tall and weighed a perfect, California actress/model, 120 pounds. I assumed I’d stay that perfect weight forever. Sadly, I was mistaken.

  When I was 23, I started dating a boy I was crazy about and also began working full-time as a secretary at a small publishing company after graduating college. Between commuting an hour to work each way, sitting behind a desk 8 hours, then seeing my beloved every night over dinners of all-you-can-eat ribs or chowing down on pizza, pasta and garlic knots, I began filling out and didn’t realize it. I assumed pants I’d always worn, had simply shrunk. When I went to the gynecologist’s office, I got on the scale and argued with the nurse when she said I weighed 129 pounds. “That’s impossible,” I shouted. “I’ve always been 120 pounds.”She rolled her eyes at me and assured me there was nothing wrong with the scale. Was it possible I’d gained nearly 10 pounds in just over six months? No, I told myself! I clung fiercely to the notion that the scale was broken the same way that Kate Winslet hung on to that piece of wood after the Titanic sank.

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