I had a little book with lists of food and the calories they contained. This was back in the days before everything you ate had nutrition information and there were no digital means to track your fitness or eating. Every morsel that I put in my mouth was written down in a notebook with a calorie total next to it. If I wavered in my devotion to this irksome task, a picture of myself at my most rotund had been pasted into that very same book as well.
After two years of this sort of recording, I started to relax a bit in my eating, but not in my exercising. I had started to play racquetball for up to two hours with whatever willing opponents I could find and allowed for the occasional pizza or cheesecake to creep into my routine. I did this less because I couldn't bear banishing these treats from my life than out of a desire to be a "normal" person who ate these types of things. I managed to do this and still continue to lose weight, though I did panic when I got sick and couldn't burn more calories with copious amounts of exercise.
I had an eating disorder during my childhood and young adulthood, and I swapped it out for a different type of disordered behavior in college. Instead of compulsively eating, I started compulsively exercising as fear of not continuing to lose weight and to eventually be physically rejected by Tito when we finally met face to face gnawed at me.
I wrote this card from a Pizza Hut and it wasn't the first or last time that I talked about what I "indulged" in and how I was going to rein myself in later in compensation. I often felt that I had to prove to him that I wasn't going to return to my former weight by explaining such adjustments.
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