MY DIETING DILEMMAS AND A DIARY TO DIE FOR

My Dieting Dilemmas and a Diary to Die For Shivani Mohan (LIFE)

28 January 2010, 6:59 PM

I lamented in my column last week about how I was stuck with a six month long membership to my gym with little inclination to exercise anymore. Well, some more drama has been added to my dilemma.

You see, I had been going through the motions. Doing my daily gym routine with probably as much motivation as a circus lion has to dance. I would head home tired and famished. I felt I had earned my daily bread after all and gorge on a regular healthy Punjabi diet. As a result the weight was refusing to budge. Initially of course, all trainers give you that whole theory about how exercise makes your fat turn into muscle and muscle happens to be heavier than fat. Therefore you weigh the same even though you’re getting slimmer. But seriously, how long can you thrive on that bit of information? I needed to see a dwindling needle. The missing link in my fitness pursuit was definitely the diet. Once a week we have the privilege of engaging with a dietician and discussing our food related queries, a ritual I had been quietly bypassing as there is no damn diet theory in the world I don’t know about.

I devour health and fitness articles with a voracious appetite. I watch every possible fitness show on TV, preferably lying prostate on a couch, with a pack of chips at arm’s length. I know my HDLs and LDLs and essential amino acids.

In fact, I could give a tip or two to the dietician. Atkins, General Motors, High Protein, Vegan, Low Carbs — I know them all. It is only when it comes to implementing these diets that I say ‘pass.’ The dietician gave me the usual humbug, advising me to maintain a food diary. I did not understand the point initially. “If I eat gobhi parathas with butter for breakfast followed by chicken curry and rice for lunch and an extensive Thai dinner with liberal doses of chocolates, sweets and snacks in between-and write all of that down, how is it going to make me lose weight?”

“It will at least make you aware of how much you eat and when and why.”

The prescribed format she chalked out for me had columns such as time, food, quantity eaten and mood when eaten. So now not only was I going to be mapping my erratic eating habits but even tightening the noose around my moods. I did not know what I was more scared of, the former or the latter. Would a chocolate chip cookie eaten in a ‘dour’ mood be more lethal than a chocolate chip cookie eaten in a ‘perky’ mood? I tried one last ditch effort to wiggle out of this. “It seems too cumbersome a process. I mean, I struggle through the month chasing that utopia where all my cupboards are neat, my child performing well at school, my family well fed, my bills paid on time, my feet pedicured, my dog walked, my garden watered, my in-laws appeased, and my Facebook status updated. And here there is another addition to the endless ‘to-do’ list, when I virtually hate to-do lists!”

“Don’t worry. This format is a breeze. Otherwise there are more complex formats such as emotional eating food diary; sugar, salt and fat food diary; fibre, calcium and omega-3 food diary; potassium and magnesium diary.” I wondered at the kind of person who maintains a ‘Potassium and Magnesium’ diary. Wow! It would look so silly to people around me, I told her. But she was all professional and in control, a picture of gentle persuasion.

“You don’t have to tell anybody about it. Let it be private, a conversation between you and your eating habits. You have to self-correct yourself. You should also give positive affirmations like a compliment to yourself at the end of a good disciplined day.” She gave me a basic guideline about an ideal menu plan. I went and stacked my kitchen with granola bars, oats, porridge, sprouts, roasted snacks and what have you. I changed my screen saver to the famous quote by Kate Moss: ‘Nothing tastes better than feeling skinny does.’

“Okay folks, I am on a diet”, I announced valiantly at home that day. I’ll have meals separately so that I don’t get tempted. Life turned into a well planned, organised and tabulated routine. It was all going fine. And then at the end of one such day, the wholesome vegetable soup over at 7.30 pm, I settled down to write the things I write—I am a late night person-and at 12.30 in the dead of the night, the sad gruel-like meal turns into a growl. In fact, the growl slowly turns into a chorus, singing for supper, orchestrating hungry hosannas. Papaya, I wanna say byea; Lauki, you’re too low-key; More oats could make me slit throats; Salad, doesn’t tease my palate...wicked thoughts...rice is nice; meat is neat. Rumblings in the tummy overpower any will to look slim. And I remember that most supermodels end up in rehabs anyway.

There are those two, luscious, brown gulab jamuns lying in the refrigerator that hover over my head. I tip toe to the kitchen and heat them in the microwave for just those 20 seconds that unleash the glorious, latent flavours trapped within. What better positive affirmation could there be in this world!

As for the diary? Well, it has all those entries- God knows I am honest- Chocolate cake, 2.30 am; Lays tomato salsa chips, 11.30 pm; Bikaneri Bhujia 1.30 am. As of now, no one knows about it.

I zealously guard the diary, almost as if there were some long forgotten love letters in there, or some erotic poetry maybe. I keep it under lock and key. This diary shall go to the grave with me. I am sure my husband thinks I am up to no good while I continue my midnight dates with desserts and sinful dark chocolates. Just the other night, I sat updating it when my husband walked into the study. I immediately shut the diary with a start and snuck it under the pile of books on my table. And he asked, “Everything alright?” giving me a knowing smile. “You’ve been acting strange lately,” he said and went on to buy me diamonds the next week!

Shivani Mohan is an India-based
writer. For comments, write to
opinion@khaleejtimes.com

Published in Khaleej Times on 17th Jan 2010

It all started when I decided to join a local gym to shed a few pounds. I had tried other ways to achieve that goal. A friend and hundreds of sexy models and movie stars had recommended yoga saying that it would calm me. All I needed to practise it were a yoga mat and a quiet room.

The physical pace of yoga was a bit uninspiring for me, even though I felt much more agile mentally. And I agree that yoga did calm me a lot. The weight was adamant and I was bored. Besides gazing at a hirsute Baba Ramdev first thing in the morning was not my idea of a perfect start to the day.

I decided that I had to join a gym to feel that energising, fit vibe of years ago. Lively interiors, pumping music, no postmen and salesmen to disturb you, no phone calls-just what I wanted on my way to that six pack nirvana. This was me-time. I quickly went and bought myself some bright track suits and gym gear. Gosh, I was feeling lighter already, in the pocket at least.

Now the first time I had ever joined a gym years ago, the fees were barely Rs 300 per month and in that you could do everything there was. So I would warm up and do cardio for 40 minutes, followed by a strenuous aerobics session. Then I would do some weights and cool down with breathing and floor exercises. There was no hurry to head back home. This time round things have changed. The same gym has now slotted all services in neat little segments. Aerobics Rs 1000, Cardio Rs 800, Weight Training Rs 700, Power Yoga Rs 900, Diet Planning Rs 500. Not wanting to spend too much initially, I enrolled only for aerobics. I was bound to enjoy the rhythm and tempo. I had a spring in my step. I waited every morning to get ready for the gym.

One of the best things about going to a gym is meeting and getting to see more fat people. Remember the old lesson that middle class parents in the Eighties talked about. When you feel you have less, look at someone who has lesser than you, and you’ll feel thankful. You can just reverse that theory in a gym. Just when you are in one of your ‘feeling overweight’ moods, look at someone more endowed than you. See the warmth of gratitude towards God that fills up in your body. So what if I have a paunch, at least I don’t have jelly hips like that exhibit A. So what if 
I have spare tyre.

At least I don’t have a double chin like that exhibit B over there. And gosh! Look at those gunny sack arms! At least my arms are still toned. And so 
are my ankles.

One month of this, and obviously the enthusiasm began to wear thin. Ah, it was a chore getting up early. See there are people who love to exercise. They are the ones who wake up at the crack of dawn to rush to their Tabata class. They miss gourmet dinners because they’re running a marathon the next day. They go horse riding for two hours and then swim 20 laps in the pool to cool down.

And then there are people like me, who would be very happy doing nothing all day, if given a choice. I have no qualms about accepting that I am a true hedonist at heart. Give me a pizza over pilates, give me a burgundy over a bench press, give me a rock concert or a rom-com over a Reebok-athon any day.

Then around Diwali, which is when a four month long festive season begins in India and all fitness attempts go for a toss, the gym had a ‘Bumper Diwali Offer’. Enroll for six months and pay in advance and get Aerobics + Cardio+ Weight Training at Rs 1500 per month. Individually these services add up to Rs 2500 per month. It sounded like a good deal. After one particular day of mind numbing eating, I fell for the bait. Besides I also needed a change from my aerobics routine.

The foot thumping numbers in the cardio section surely get your heart and imagination running. One look around you and one can almost read what’s going on in everybody’s mind. There is the 20 something cutie effortlessly running her 21^st lap on the treadmill to ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.’ You know she’s just a block away from size zero and she is in it for some ‘lipos(ed)uction.’

Being a 35+ married, mother of one, the dictum of ‘No pain no gain’ is sadly lost on me.

The music goads me on. No harm in getting some techno music supported stamina. Now the thing with exercising to a remix version of ‘I will survive’ is that you tend to forget your physical limitations and transcend into superwoman stratosphere, huffing and puffing your way to ‘svelteland’ in a day. Well, the reality bites the next day when your head is whizzing and your legs are aching and badly in need of six packs, ice packs I mean. I shun the gym for one complete week. I know I’ll never use the services for which I have paid 6 months in advance.

Then one morning I get this sms- ‘Planet Fitness misses you! May we know the reason for your absence? Do we need to remind you benefits of exercising? Please rejoin soon.’

As of now the weighing scale needle is where it was. The only song I identify with these days is Meatloaf’s ‘Life is a lemon and I want my money back’. I don’t know whether I want six pack abs anymore. I’ll be happy to just get my ten grand back. And hey, good gym wear makes for excellent lounge wear!

Shivani Mohan is an India-based writer. For comments, write to opinion@khaleejtimes.com