Much
of why I chose to live in Campbell this year relates back to my personal health
and weight. The three-block walk to and from campus everyday—which strangely
felt like it was uphill both ways—would help me to start exercising more
regularly. That was the general hope at least. To say I am unhappy with my body
is an understatement. I can fill an entire mirror and spend the better half of
an hour pointing out every single flaw: the pores on my nose are too big; my
back rolls are saggy and catch my shirt to streak it with sweat when the room
is humid; my stomach sags down over my jeans, even if the top is supposed to
sit at my waist…I can go on for a while. And the whole time this is happening,
I only feel more and more self-conscious and wish for an easy fix.
One
crisp winter day, I am standing in the bathroom mirror cringing at the sorry
state of my flabby upper arms when my roommate comes in, crossing her legs
tightly as she propels herself forward in an awkward sort of dance.
“Sorry,”
she says, fumbling with the button of her jeans.
I
slip out of the bathroom as she yanks her pants down and sits on the toilet. The
door blocks the hissing sound when I close it behind me. Deciding I have spent
too long today poking at my disgustingness, I rummage through the closet,
searching for a sweater from my sister. It’s two sizes too big and never fails
to make me feel three sizes smaller than I am. Considering the torture my mind
puts me through, it’s a small consolation to not feel as huge for a little
while.
Slipping
into the heather gray sweater, I leave the bedroom to plop down on the couch
with my health science textbook. I cross a leg under me before setting it on
the ground, berating myself for thinking I might be smaller than I am and could
curl up on the small sofa. Soon, Catherine comes into the main room and starts
browsing the selection in the cabinet over the sink.
“Want
anything?” she asks, her back to me as she moves to inspect the snack cupboard.
“No
thanks,” I reply, though the taste of cool, creamy ice cream melts over my
tongue and fills my mouth.
She
shrugs and takes out the box of granola and a bag of craisins. “How’s your day,
Suze?”
“So-so.”
I know she saw me prodding my collection of fatty stores, and it’s not a new
sight to her. She usually makes small efforts here and there to share a healthy
snack or to try a new workout class with her; the latter is the more
humiliating of the two and the reason I continue to avoid going to work out.
“You
know, my sister was struggling to lose weight for years. She was practically
addicted to chocolate cake.” She’s mixing the granola and craisins into some
plain yogurt from the fridge. “They put her on this medicine to help suppress
her appetite. She’s lost a lot of weight because of it. She was telling me
about it the other day when she called about her wedding.”
My
textbook is trying to tell me something about sleep and healthy stress, but I
can’t help but perk an ear to what she’s saying. Having tried just about every
diet plan in existence since I was 12, I’m skeptical, though it doesn’t stop me
being hopeful.
Catherine
adds, “I could get more information if you’re interested.”
“I
don’t know,” I admit; did I really want to put myself through another round of
miracle fixes? Just because it worked for her sister…everyone is different,
after all.
“Well,
let me know what you decide,” Catherine says, to which I nod and assure her I
will.
She
glides to the window and opens the blinds a moment before lowering them again.
“God that place is hideous. I wish they would just tear it down already.”
Catherine takes her yogurt and walks to the bedroom. Before disappearing around
the corner, she smiles at me. At first I think she might say something, her
lips even part in preparation. Then she disappears into the bedroom.
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