The Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl

by Shauna Reid

  WEEK 240

  August 15

  Apologies for the lengthy silence around here, I’ve been busy hiding in a dark room, rocking back and forth and speaking in tongues. It’s been an interesting week, to say the least.

  It finally happened, people. The mask is off. Dietgirl has been OUTED to all and sundry!

  I admit that I’m a moron when it comes to all things arithmetical and statistical, so perhaps that’s why I’d convinced myself that even though the Sunday Mail sells millions of copies, none of my acquaintances would be among its readers. I mean, surely they’d go for something a wee bit more highbrow?

  Even so, I tiptoed into the office extra early on Monday morning, determined to keep a low profile. But right away a colleague ambushed me in the foyer.

  “Morning.”

  “Why hello!” she grinned. “And how are you?”

  Uh-oh.

  “I opened the paper yesterday morning and I thought, ‘That looks like Shauna.’ And it was! I got the shock of my life!”

  “Oh!”

  And so it went all week. There were smiles, gasps, and heads shaken in disbelief. There were jokes, sideways looks, and hush-hush conversations. Some people even brought in the clipping and passed it around their department.

  But everyone has been lovely. Surprised, but lovely. They had no idea that I was larger before I came to Scotland, so I suppose it’s understandable that they were shocked to have their Sunday morning cornflakes interrupted by my pudgy floating head.

  The attention made me squirm, because despite my amazing NET LOSS! I am still bigger than 95 percent of my colleagues. I wanted to get a T-shirt that says I’m not done yet. Now everytime someone so much as glances at me, I’m worried they’re trying to picture me twice as wide.

  The most infuriating moment was when I got cornered waiting for the lift. That’ll teach me not to take the stairs!

  “I heard about your … article,” my colleague said in a stage whisper. “It’s amazing. But I just can’t picture you being so … so … you know. Big!”

  “Oh?”

  “I mean, 350 pounds!” Her face wrinkled up with mild distaste as though she’d said, I mean, two vaginas! or Sleeping with horses!

  My body crackled with irritation. I’m extremely protective of my larger former self. I’m still the same person I was back then, just with slightly better eating and exercise habits! Sometimes I think I should have been an alcoholic; it seems a more socially acceptable character kink. Obesity just isn’t glamorous.

  Yesterday Grant came up to me and leaned on my desk. “So,” he said. “I’ve got a sprawling beer belly, eh?”

  “What?”

  “I was reading your website last night.”

  “Oh?”

  “Does August 2004 ring any bells? You were describing someone very familiar!”

  Shit shit shit! I’d written about him! And his former sprawling beer belly! I believed I’d described him as having an assortment of chins.

  “I’m sorry!” I blurted. “I was just jealous of you, flaunting your baggy trousers around the office!”

  “Don’t worry,” he grinned. “I showed it to my wife too. It’s not every day you find someone talking about your trousers on the Internet.”

  Oh God. How horrifying to hear your own words coming back at you from a real live person! For all these years I’ve been secretly typing away and thinking only imaginary cyber folk were reading. I’ve been so careful to use pseudonyms and not write anything that could weed me out in a Google search, but now my hysterically guarded anonymity has been destroyed!

  There is no escape. Here are a few choice vignettes from the past week.

  Scene 1: The vending machine at work.

  SHAUNA: Bugger! It’s out of Snickers. I really wanted a Snickers.

  COLLEAGUE: Should you even be anywhere near that machine, Dietgirl?

  Scene 2: At the train station.

  [My friend Richard spots me and runs over.]

  RICHARD: Hey! I saw you in the paper!

  SHAUNA: Shit!

  RICHARD: What a surprise, eh? You’re the Diet Lady! Hello, Diet Lady! Hey, don’t look embarrassed; it’s so cool. BE PROUD, DIET LADY!… It is Diet Lady, isn’t it?

  Poor Gareth has been copping it too. His friend Steve said, “Mate, when you get married, people usually put a photo in the local rag, not the Sunday Mail!” Then a client left a message: “Nice to see you’ve found yourself a little wife on the Internet.”

  I’ve spent a few days in mourning. Dietgirl has been my outlet during this epic expedition, and I naively failed to consider how the article might change that. For someone who used to regularly take refuge in the bottom of a cupboard, I feel exposed knowing my last hideaway is gone.

  But I’m trying to look at this experience in a positive light. How many people can say they were tabloid news?

  More importantly, I know it’s time to stop hiding. Back when I was twice as big, I felt like half the person I wanted to be. I hid myself away from the world and made as little fuss as possible. Since I took up so much physical space, I tried to make my personality small. So my virtual space was where I could freely express myself and talk about my weight, something I was too ashamed to do in person.

  But now everybody knows, and it turns out it’s not a big deal after all. I always worried that people would look at me differently if they knew about my past. But instead they’ve just said they were proud of me, even inspired.

  I’m going to be proud too. I look back at my early writing and it’s shocking to see how my words were full of venom and self-loathing. I’m torn between wanting to hug my old self or kick her arse. But I’m not ashamed or contemptuous anymore. I’m proud of myself for surviving those darker days just as much as I’m proud of losing the weight.

  So no more virtual double life. I don’t need a secret place to be my real self, because I’m being my real self all the time now, both online and out there in the big bad world. Now that I’m out, I’m going to be proud. I’m tired of worrying about what people think when they’re probably not thinking anything at all.

  WEEK 241

  August 22

  I’ve discovered the ultimate weight loss secret: become a fussy eater!

  There was a time when the right time for food was any time and the right food was any food. But now I’ve cultivated a certain snobbishness, and it has to be the right food, at the best time of day or week, consumed in the perfect locale with the planets in correct alignment.

  The best example is chocolate. Green & Black’s is now my preferred brand. I don’t like to eat it on a Sunday night, because I’ve got work the next day. The middle of the week is no good either, because I’m always busy exercising or washing my hair with a teacup. Ideally I save it for a Friday night, when I know the working week is behind me and there’s nothing else I should be thinking about. Then the next morning I can wake up and think fondly, How about that great chocolate I ate last night?

  In the old days I’d buy half a kilo of cooking chocolate, hide in my room and cram it into my mouth in a frenzy. Now I get one of those tiny 35-gram bars and eat it on the couch with Gareth sitting beside me. He’s usually reading or on the laptop, so I’ll close my eyes, savoring both my delicious treat and the marital harmony.

  These days it’s all about mindful consumption. I get annoyed if I succumb to a crappy bar from the vending machine or chomp M&Ms in the dark at the movies. If I can only have a tiny wee portion of chocolate, then I should pay attention to the moment! If I eat chocolate in the dark, how do I know I really ate it? Did it really happen?

  I’m finally making my peace with food. Sometimes it’s just everyday fuel for my athletic endeavors, but sometimes it’s a moment to treasure. I don’t punish myself for eating something indulgent, nor do I go overboard when I fancy a treat.

  Example of progress:

  BEFORE. ATE: Two-liter tub of ice cream.

  REACTION: Complete meltdown and minimum seven-day ban
ishment to the Self-Loathing Pit.

  NOW. ATE: Mars Bar.

  REACTION: “Oh well, I’ll eat less tomorrow.”

  It’s getting better all the time. I’m not as obsessed with food as I used to be. I’ve managed to tame it into unbridled enthusiasm!

  WEEK 244

  September 12

  189 pounds

  162 pounds lost—24 to go

  I’ve been so busy being a media tart that I almost forgot there’s only two weeks until we go to Australia for Wedding Part III!

  I can’t wait to get back home. I’ve been glued to Neighbours and swooning at the sound of Aussie voices. I got tearful at my BodyPump class this morning when the shoulder track was an AC/DC tune. I keep poring over our itinerary, my budget spreadsheet, and my folder full of tickets and hotel confirmations. I’ve even made a list of my lists:

  • Gifts to Purchase!

  • Tours to Organize!

  • Fake Wedding Vows to Write!

  • People to See after a 2.5 Year Absence!

  • Things to Pack!

  • Things I Want to Eat!

  The one item that will remain unchecked is Get to Goal. I was 221 pounds and size 20 when I left, and I’m 189 pounds and a size 14 now. That doesn’t sound as impressive as I’d imagined earlier this year, but somehow it doesn’t seem to matter now. Overall, I’ve still lost a whole Gareth!

  What matters is that I feel completely new. I look in the mirror and purr at my reflection instead of wanting to destroy it. I’m fascinated by how my body is gradually revealing its shape after hiding behind those extra layers. I used to worry I’d end up with floppy excess skin, but the leisurely pace of my weight loss has given things time to adjust. Every day there’s something new to admire. I’ve got broad shoulders and a pretty collarbone. My waist is shrinking and sadly my chest is too. I’ve got curvy hips and chunky thighs. I’ve got pillowy upper arms that lead to slender wrists and hands with long fingers. I even have ankles now, thanks to all those RPM classes. My body is a mass of contradictions—muscle and curves, stretch marks and strength—but I’m starting to embrace it all.

  So when I go back to Australia, for the first time I want to see people and I want them to see me. I’m feeling foxy and I’m ready for my close-up!

  WEEK 247

  October 3

  Australia looked exactly how I’d left it. The same empty blue skies, sinewy gum trees, and sun so bright my eyes watered. So much has happened to me since I left, I thought maybe the landscape would have undergone a parallel transformation.

  But with Gareth beside me it was like seeing the country for the first time. He pressed his nose against the window as I drove along the sprawling avenues of Canberra.

  “Whoa! Look at that big pink parrot!”

  “Ahh,” I laughed. “That’s a galah.”

  “But it’s just sitting there beside the road. It’s huge! And… there’s white ones too!”

  “They’re cockatoos.”

  “We’ve only been here ten minutes and there’s crazy wildlife everywhere! When do we get to see some killer snakes?”

  The most spectacular creature of all was the Mothership. We pulled up at her house in Goulburn to find her hopping from one foot to the other, looking 40 pounds lighter and twenty years younger.

  “Hello, Daughter! Hello, Son-in-Law!”

  “Mothership! You’ve shrunk!”

  “Haven’t I just?” She grinned proudly and did a little twirl. “These are your fat old jeans that you gave me in Edinburgh. Size 16!”

  “You look amazing. Is it all that walking?”

  “The gym too,” she said, “I’m into weights and all that.”

  “Wow!”

  “You inspired me. I said to myself, ‘If Shauna can do it, why the bloody hell can’t I?’”

  “Why not, indeed.”

  “It’s different this time, I can just feel it. I’m finally doing it for the right reasons. I don’t do diets anymore. I just want to live to a ripe old age and make the most of my life, you know?”

  “Yep!”

  “I’m a new woman, Shauna. I don’t even tape Oprah every day now. I just don’t need to,” she said breezily. “I only tape it if the episode is going to be particularly relevant to me.”

  “Well! You have truly reformed.”

  “Thank you, darling!”

  “But you know all this means you’re no longer Too Fat to make the tea. Get that kettle on!”

  After we’d been watered, the Mothership said, “We’ll need to do a quick trip to Coles. But I promise I only need a few things!”

  For the first time I didn’t want to wait in the car. I dragged Gareth up and down every aisle of the supermarket, showing him the culinary delights of my fair nation, all the new things and all the old friends I’d missed. The tropical fruits unencumbered by plastic packaging and air miles. The piles of affordable seafood. The superior Australian varieties of Cadbury’s Dairy Milk.

  “And here we have the biscuit aisle,” I indicated with a sweeping gesture.

  Gareth nodded with suitable reverence.

  “Wow, look at all these different kinds of Tim Tams!” I spluttered. “They didn’t have all those before I left. Look at them, Gareth. Look at them!”

  “I’m looking!”

  I fought the urge to gather them all up in my tender arms. People always seem amazed that I’ve managed to lose weight in Scotland, land of tablet, Irn-Bru, and deep-fried everything. But it’s much worse in Australia, where everything is delicious.

  WEEK 247.5

  October 7

  Today I pawed through boxes of childhood stuff, showing Gareth my photos and prizes and mementoes. It was strange seeing him sitting in my mother’s house, leafing through a pile of CDs and laughing at my questionable teenage taste. Until now my Australian years and Scottish years felt like two different lifetimes, but having Gareth on my home turf seemed to bring it all together.

  And then I found what I’d been looking for, nestled alongside a dozen Sweet Valley High books. My size 24 jeans. I’d given them to Mum because she’d had a wacky idea of making a patchwork quilt out of my old fat clothes.

  I shook them out and held them up against my body.

  “Whoa!” said Gareth. “Were they yours?”

  “Yep. My biggest pair.”

  “You’ve got to put them on!”

  I stepped inside. I could lift the waistband up to my chin. As soon as I let go they fell to the floor in a blue puddle.

  “Whoa!” Gareth said again.

  I pulled them back up, stretched out the waistband and peered down into the empty space. It was shocking to get a true sense of the Before and After.

  The Mothership peeked in. “Oh my God! I’m getting the camera.”

  “Aww, Ma!”

  “Come outside in the sunshine. This is going to be gold!”

  So I stood in the backyard striking poses. I held the waistband out in the traditional Where Did My Belly Go? position then climbed into one leg for the requisite Half the Woman I Used to Be shot.

  “Right, Gareth,” Mum directed. “You hop into the other leg.”

  It was an awkward squeeze but we managed to do it: my husband and I both inside the jeans that I once couldn’t fit into on my own.

  Afterward we gathered round the camera to review the shots.

  “Here’s Gareth getting into your pants,” said Mum. “And right in front of his mother-in-law!”

  “Jeez, my arse looks kinda big in those jeans.”

  “Shauna,” Gareth laughed, “you’re standing in one leg of them!”

  “Oh yeah! You’ve got a point there.”

  Mum was shaking her head. “Can you believe you used to wear these?”

  “Not really.”

  The memory is distant and fuzzy. It just seems impossible that I’d ever filled all that space.

  WEEK 249

  October 17

  I’ve just spent two weeks eating my way around Australia.
It started in Cowra, where Nanny wooed her new grandson-in-law with vast amounts of home baking. I had intended to show restraint to maximize my svelteness for Wedding Part III, but I was seduced by Nanny’s sweet treats and flattering words.

  “Shauna,” she said. “You are looking very slim.”

  “Do you think so? Really?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Why, thank you!”

  “Do you fancy some of my passion fruit cheesecake?”

  “Don’t mind if I do!”

  Really, it would have been rude not to, especially as she’d been baking all night despite her painful arthritis. That’s why I also had a lamington and two pieces of caramel slice to show that I truly appreciated her efforts.

  I’d made a pact with myself only to eat the things I really wanted on this trip—all the things I’d truly missed while living in the UK. The only problem was, it turned out I truly missed a lot of things. When the tour rolled on to Canberra, I dived into al fresco café breakfasts, luscious nongreasy pizzas, giant smoothies, and a good old Aussie hamburger with the works, including fried egg, bacon, and beetroot.

  In Melbourne, I rediscovered decadent hot chocolates, Turkish banquets, sweet potato fries, chocolate thick shakes in old-fashioned metal cups, papaya salad, and elaborate pastries from the bakeries in St. Kilda. In Queensland, on the Sunshine Coast, we feasted on fresh pineapple and strawberries from a roadside stall.

  What can I say? I love good food, and Australia is a well-stocked nation. I’d forgotten the joys of eating outdoors with the sun gently toasting your skin. I’d missed lazy hours in cafés and restaurants that don’t cripple your bank balance. Which brings us to Sydney and those twenty dollar sushi platters.

  Despite all that eating, I feel calm. For the first time, I’m not neurotic about calorie contents or fighting the urge to overeat or wondering if people think I’m fatter than last time they saw me. I just feel like a normal person, savoring the company of old friends, both human and edible. The sensible salads and soup will be right there waiting for me back in Scotland.