Seven-point-four pounds. That’s how much the Weight Watchers scale said I lost last week. Sure, they tell you the amount of weight lost in the first three weeks on the program will be inordinately high because a large part of it is water. Water weight or not, I definitely can tell that I’m smaller; I feel less bloated and my jeans are fitting better. But I’m telling you right now: if I gained weight this week, I will not be happy.
It’s disconcerting how much my mood is affected by my perception of weight lost or gained. Part of me knows it’s because I’ve been trained by society to extract a certain level of self-worth based on the numbers on the scale or the tag of my jeans. When I showed off my new Easter dress to my mom, I made sure to mention that it was a size 11.
There’s also the smugness and self-satisfaction that comes with divulging the difference between my old size and my new size; my old weight and new weight; old pictures and new pictures. I’m torn between resting on my laurels and still wanting more. Why did I stake so much in one little number in the inseam of my dress?
In these situations, I try to keep in mind some Buddhist principles. As a religion major, I’ve gained some insights that have a lot more to do with dieting than you’d think. For one thing, the principle of doing good now, in order to be rewarded later, applies both to dieting and to religion. Exercise can be used as a redemption for past indulgent sins, but ultimately, moderation in all things is the best approach from the beginning. The Buddha, in his own quest for enlightenment, realized that it wasn’t to be found through extreme asceticism. Rather, he espoused what is sometimes known as the Middle Way.
In Thich Nhat Hanh’s The Miracle of Mindfulness, he relates a time when his friend Jim was eating a tangerine quickly, stuffing the pieces into his mouth while simultaneously talking about something he was going to do later. Hanh describes Jim as eating not the fruit, but his future plans. When your conscious mind becomes detached from the mechanics of eating — whether it’s by reading the newspaper with your morning cereal or watching TV at dinner — you might as well not be eating anything at all. If we tried to be a little more connected to our dining, we could keep from overeating.
Traditions including Hinduism, Buddhism and Native American religions make little, if any, distinction between religious rituals and everyday living. Dieting should be approached with that same view: it’s not something to idly engage in on a Sunday afternoon for an hour, but something to be lived every day. Of course, dieting shouldn’t become a consuming obsession, but only one facet of a greater lifestyle.
Consider the food you have eaten so far today: How has it made you feel? Forget the guilt or shame you’re still attaching to that extra cookie, I mean the physical reaction your body has to the fuel you’ve provided it. The body, resilient as it may be, has a harder time digesting a cheeseburger and fries than it does grilled chicken, brown rice and asparagus. For that matter, a whole banana split is a bigger obstacle to digest than one cup of ice cream. Your body can tell you what foods it gains the most from and when enough is enough – listen to it.
Reflecting on why one has picked up that extra bag of chips before dinner is not a question most people actively engage in. But try keeping a food journal for a couple of days, writing down not only what you eat, but also what you’re thinking when you eat it. What are the reasons? Are you upset? Bored? Bitter? This can shed light onto your own behaviors when it comes to food. This week, let’s all be more mindful about the things we put in our body.