Monday, December 13, 2004
food, or why anorexics should eat more
Yay.
I got Gage to come see my blog. This is exciting for some reason. I think I need to get out more.
I did a really out-of-character thing today, which was to wake up insanely early on a Sunday morning after a mere six hours of sleep, bundle up in my favourite white fuzzy hat and gloves and sweats and a fleecy jacket cause it was damn cold outside and zip over to my neighbourhood gyme, which for some reason I haven't been to in about five years. It was so early that the only people there were seniors and a few die-hards. For the first time in...um...probably ever, I felt people looking at me as though I was the die-hard in the room, which was a truly bizarre feeling, and one I never get when I'm at a gym filled with anorexic and/or super-athletic 20-somethings.
And speaking of anorexics, I see an increasing number of them at the university gyme, and it never ceases to deeply disturb me. They stand out like sore thumbs, not because everyone else is chubby, but because everyone else is healthy. They look like pictures of Buchenwald, circa 1945, utterly emaciated, with bones sticking out all over and sunken cheeks. I want to throw them a piece of bread, but I have restrained myself (so far, anyway). If my life consisted solely of denying myself food and exercising obsessively in order to be skinnier than the girl next to me, I can honestly say there would be very little point in continuing.
When I think of all the joy I get from food and comfort, and both in combination, I can't imagine how utterly upsetting my life would become if I felt I needed to deny it from myself. Going out for sushi and Chinese food and pho and hot wings at Earl's and even pre-class sandwiches at Subway are some of the most social, enjoyable, fulfilling moments I can think of. Aside from things like love and sex (when I wrote this sentence the sex came first, to tell you which part of the lovely gutter my mind is hanging out in) and also things like family and books and cats, food is truly one of the greatest things in life.
So many of my memories of Switzerland are tied to food and drink: roast chicken with Dag and the Romanians when we were incredibly stoned at 2am, perfect cups of strong coffee in the student caf and Zelig, the student bar (ah, Dag...remember Zelig!), absolutely amazing platters of warm, fresh French bread, sausages, and camembert in the Swiss wine country, many, many glasses of scotch and gin & tonics with my greatest drinking companions, rosti -- crisp and salty right out of the frying pan with a little bit of Italian bacon, cookies with chocolate cream in the middle, gingerbread ice cream, spaghetti with clams and cream sauce in Milan, sublime Thai food in Prague, Christmas in a bottle -- or whatever liquor P. had on World Cup night at the Prague apartment, fresh oysters shucked at the supermarche and drenched in lemon and pepper, really creamy brie that is totally unknown to North Americans, gooey pizzas covered in real mushrooms and salami, couscous salad and baguette at an abbey in Provence, huge wild strawberries from the street market in Aix, mint chocolate chip gelato at Rousillion in France, and so much more. The culinary adventures of Europe, and of life in general, are simply too many to give up. I would rather deal with a less-than-supermodel physique than deny myself everything that Anthony Bourdain has fought so hard to preserve.
While food is not on my bargaining table, couch-potatoism certainly is. Since I started dragging myself to the gym x many times a week I have skipped no fewer than three cold/flu/typhoid outbreaks in my immediate circle. And by immediate circle, I mean making out was involved. Plus, there's the ROAR factor. Let us not underestimate the ROAR factor.
One problem, however, with the ROAR factor is that, like meth, it prevents one from wanting to sleep as frequently. I don't think I need to go into why it's probably a safer study aid than meth. Dag knows why.
And on that note, I bid thee good even.
-N
