It Takes One To Know One

Well, I went running yesterday – 2.5 miles in 34 minutes.

Greased lighting baby. Ok not really, but it ain’t too shabby.

So can I tell you a sobering story that recently put some perspective on my healthiness journey?

On my way home from work one day, I decided to stop at one of my favorite local bakery/cafes and pick up a salad for dinner. When I walked in, there were already two other women in line at the register. One of them was being helped, and the other, a morbidly obese woman, was behind her eyeing the pastry case. I walked up silently behind her and took my place in line. Shortly after that, another lady walked in and got in line behind me.

When it came time for the obese lady in front of me to order, she told the cashier that she was picking up an order for two dozen deviled eggs that she had phoned in earlier that day. The cashier nodded and left us to go into the kitchen for the woman’s food.

Now being that we’re all in Texas and pride ourselves on a little thing called “Southern Hospitality,” it isn’t uncommon at all to strike up conversations with people you’ve never met before in your life. The obese woman turned around to me and the other lady in line. She smiled sheepishly at us. It was a pleasant smile though. She had a very pretty face, and her blonde hair was swept up into a lose bun on the back of her head. Her eyes were a soft blue color, and she didn’t look to me like she could be older than 35.

“They’re for a party,” she said. “You know, the deviled eggs are so good here! And it’s so much easier than making them!” She laughed — but it came out a little too loud and a little too forced. She clasped her hands in front of her stomach and swayed back and forth.

I cringed. This situation was hauntingly familiar. The laugh, the inexplicable need to justify your food to complete strangers… “I’ve been there,” I thought silently. Still, maybe I was wrong. Maybe they really were for a party.

The woman standing behind me in line was a very thin woman, and I could tell she took the obese woman’s words at face value. “Oh,” she said, sounding interested. “I’ve never tried the deviled eggs here, but everything else is so good, I bet they’re great!” The thin lady didn’t appear to suspect anything was amiss in this situation. And why would she? Unless you’ve fought that battle –the battle to have a normal relationship with food–, you simply do not understand the twisted games people will play in order to hide their food addictions.

I pushed my thoughts to the back of my mind and joined in the small talk. After the woman received and paid for her deviled eggs, she said goodbye to us (it felt like we were all friends by then!) and walked out. It only took me a few seconds to purchase my salad, and then I headed out too. I got in my car, buckled my seatbelt and backed out of my space. I pulled out into the street, and (don’t you just know it) the light at the intersection I was approaching switched to yellow. Grrrr.

I slowed my car to stop as the light flicked to red. There was one other car at the intersection, and it was right next to me. When I glanced over I saw it was the woman with the eggs. Her mouth was full, and she was chewing. Before she finished swallowing, she reached down and grabbed another deviled egg and put it in her mouth. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand.

My heart broke for her.

And then, just for a second, she happened to look up at me. We made eye contact briefly before she looked away, and a few moments later the light changed and she hit the gas hard.

I marinated on that experience for a while. A looooong while. I don’t ever want to go back to feeling like I have to lie about what I’m eating or how much I’m eating or why I’m eating or when I’m eating. I don’t want food to be a secret escape. I don’t want to be so embarrassed about my actions that I wolf down copious amounts of food in my car and then dispose of the packaging in public garbage cans so no one else will know about it.

Whatever was hurting that woman, I doubt the eggs solved the problem. But I understand why she did it. I understand exactly why it seemed like a good idea at the time.

I’ve tried to think of a way to end this story, but I can’t find the right words.

It made me thankful to be moving away from using food in a wrong way.

It made me sad for a person I don’t really know, but to whom I can easily relate.

It made me want to press on towards the finish.

It made me remember why I started.

It made me remember why I would rather feel the pain of sore muscles than the pain of hopelessness.