The Weight

Eventually, I grew on you.

But you didn’t make it easy. All throughout your childhood you were constantly moving around; soccer, basketball, karate — who were you kidding?

Just sit there and let me take over, for Christ’s sake.

When you were a kid, really little — I think you may have been nine or ten, maybe — you’d scurry down into the basement of your folks’ place, into the office. Which wasn’t really like an office, it was more a place to store the ever-growing library of Encyclopedia Britannica growing like a moss on a rickety bookshelf along the wall. Next to the rusted out rowing machine in the corner, and the Sanyo computer, was a filing cabinet. The corners were bent inward like a moth’s wings when it’s sleeping, and the drawers didn’t quite close thanks to a couple of clumsy movers.

You’d creep along the carpet to the cabinet. One hand holding it tightly to the tracks the other slowly pulling it along making sure nobody heard a peep. Finally it revealed a plastic bucket filled with rolled coins.

But to you, it may as well have been the Oak Island Money Pit.

Sneaking a peek around the corner, you’d take two rolls of quarters and stuff them in your pockets and bolt out of the basement with all the speed and dexterity of an olympic runner.

“I’m going out”, you’d scream to your Mother loading the dishwasher.

Trippingly, you’d make your way down Cherrington Street, and by the time you reached the bottom of Cowan Avenue and took the sharp right turn into the plaza you were salivating at the possibilities that lay ahead.

The name said it all.

Buns Master.

Indeed they were.

Six kaiser rolls and one dozen cheese sticks.

You could set your clock to it. Every now and then you’d mix it up with an oversized chocolate chip cookie or two. They were the size of dinner plates with the consistency of chaulk.

Still, a hint of milk and they were right as rain.

Sometimes you’d sit alone in your room and just eat the Kaisers and bread sticks all in one shot. Just the bread, no butter or anything. Right out of the bag.

Most times though you’d head to the kitchen and dig out a hole in the centre of three Kaisers and fill them with chedder, stick them in the microwave until the cheese was bubbling over the sides and onto the plate.

It was more like a soup, than a sandwich.

Once those three were finished, you couldn’t stop. You needed to finish the bag. Get rid of the evidence, so to speak.

Much to my delight. It made my job a hell of a lot easier.

Nine years old and stealing so you could binge eat Buns Master in your bedroom. You’re like a wet dream to me.

And sure, people tried to get in the way.

Like that time your family played Weight Watcher’s: Home Edition. Etching weekly numbers into some drug store bristol board. Tacking it up outside the bathroom door. Mere feet away from the scale.

You hated that fucking scale.

I didn’t mind it. It was carpeted. This royal blue colour that jumped out at you, it was a billboard for low self-esteem.

And there you all were. Mother, Father, Sister, Brother — all pitted against one another.

It was supposed to read like a plan to rid yourself of me. But instead it read more like a recipe for shame.

Without malice, but with great consequence.

Another time they tried to flush me out with grapefruit. Succumbing to the pressures of the monthly Prevention magazine subscription and following in the footsteps of the daytime television gurus, you attempted to banish me with nothing more than a bag full of citrus and a box of sugar twin.

But that didn’t work, now did it?

I’m like a tune that you hum because it won’t leave your head.

I’m here to help — to guard you against the pain — protect you from it all. I make it all palatable in one way or another.

I’m your oldest, closest, and most dearest friend.

I tell you one thing, you’re going to have to fight like hell to get rid of me, because I’m not going anywhere.

I love you.

18 thoughts on “The Weight

    1. Thanks. I feel as though all of the “stuff” that got me where I am, has had a voice. I’m just exploring what that voice may sound like. I’m not goin’ all flaky, just mixing things up a little.

  1. Dave two of your blog entries ago I left a comment that I would sort of “hoover on the outside” of your blog till the Fall. Then when you wrote your next entry I was so, so tempted to comment…..i do the home solo “low volume on the headphones” old model Lifecycle with eyes closed with hands never touching the handlebars (arms are altered in position…(examples hands clasped behind the back then clasped in front then arms “hammer curls position” then arms straight out all the while my trunk is “flexed” in a side to side “upper trunk doing “figure eights” for 28 minutes (roughly 9 km on the bike distance meter). After that “eyes open” off bike 20 “slow” feet on bed hands on dumbbells pushups. squats slow with light dumbbells (18 pounds each hands for each set of the rest of the “customized” movements single sets). It is like a “Zen mind set” thing that “works for me” yet may not suit many, many others. One thing I have always felt is that the “iron” (dumb bells in my case) never lets you down if you treat it’s use like “an essential element” (workout every other day with day of muscle fibre recovery in between)…oh ya forgot i do only 5 “real slow” reps x 2 sets chinups (knuckles forward then back facing for each set) in the basement at the end….before the “shot” of whey protein and then stretches (30 second hold time for each one)….sorry for the “book” but this is how i “tell the fitness racket where to “put it where the sun don’t shine”…….my “delayed pent up” comment for your last blog entry……..again sorry for too much detail….

    Now you Dave come up with THIS latest blog entry…..holy (*&*?&&……!

    God Dave, you have a talent to just “image blow away the reader in spades”……hot damn…..no words…..

    All the power to you my friend……wow………….oozing talent….

    1. Thanks Jim, I’m always fascinated by what other people do. That sounds like a pretty zen thing to (pardon my Newfoundlandisms) “be at”.

      I’m starting with a great local semi-private training gym tomorrow. And I’m pretty stoked. Myself, I like the idea of going somewhere and doing something. I write for a living — advertising. That tends to have me working both at the agency, and in my home — it can be pretty bananas sometimes. So the idea of leaving all of that behind and going someplace else… well, I need it. Heh.

      As always, my friend, thanks so much for the kind and supportive comments. They are very much appreciated. I thought I’d shake things up and see where they landed, I’m glad that something spoke to you.

      All the best.

      Long live Spring,
      Dave

  2. Hi Dave,
    Thanks for writing so eloquently and honestly about your struggles.

    I winched in recognition as I read this blog entry. I used to steal money from my dad’s desk to go to the store to buy candy. As an adult I have bought packages of cookies, chocolate, candies and hid them from my family. It’s a terrible shame that’s felt when your teenage child calls you out after she’s found your stash (shame mixed with a hopeful/desperate imploring to not be like me).

    I’m working my way down the BMI and hope to get out of the overweight bracket within the next few months. My urge to eat when I’m stressed or wanting to hide from my problems hasn’t disappeared and I’m not sure it ever will. It’s what I do with that urge that matters now.

    Thank you again.
    -gem

    1. I’m glad that you can connect with it. I’m a sucker for oatmeal cookies. Sobey’s brand (a Canadian chain). It was a thing for quite a while for me.

      Step by step, it’s doable. Little bits and pieces.

      Thanks for reading.

  3. Your blog came up on my newsfeed last fall from a mutual friend and the timing just could not have been more perfect, given I was (am!) in the midst of my own health improvement/weight loss efforts. This very post prompted me to make an appointment with a therapist for next week. Which feels huge and scary, but also refreshingly awesome. So, thanks.

    1. Therapy was a total game changer for me. It’s hard work, and the process wasn’t what I was expecting it to be. I thought I’d just go to therapy and get cured. But you go to therapy to learn how to make changes, and you need
      to stay on top of it. Much like weight. Took me a while to figure that out. But, it was well worth the time and money.

      Thank you for reading, and I’m glad that you can find something in my journey that helps you out.

  4. Hi Dave. You have put into words what I didn’t even know was existing in my mind. Your writing is very amazing. I have been trying to write you a reply that would be worthy of what you have written- sending you loads of positive energy this morning! Linda

  5. Yet another post that resonates so completely with me. As I teeter totter on the precipice of starting this journey myself I find myself reading your blog entries and just not feeling so alone anymore. You have incredible gifts. Thank you so much for sharing them.

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