We all have our vices. As it happens, mine do not include junk food. Like a lot of people, I sometimes like junk food, sometimes crave it, sometimes eat it, even though I know it’s bad for me. I don’t think it counts as a vice, though, ’cause I don’t feel guilty about it.
Until recently, I worked at a gym. On my lunch break (not everyday, mind you), I would go to Fast Eddie’s, get myself a 1/4lb cheeseburger meal with Dr. Pepper, and smile at all the amazed and horrified faces as I carried my little bag of greasie goodness back to the lunch room.
I loved the total shock and disbelief of some of the personal trainers, having them look at me like I’d sprouted horns and started belting out showtunes in a bad Russian accent, their inevitable demand of what on earth I was doing. These are not people who have a problem with people who are out of shape; they don’t expect people to look like super models – yet they can’t comprehend someone not willing to go to any lengths trying to look like one, or someone who doesn’t feel horribly embarrassed (or even a little ashamed) munching on a hamburger and fries while surrounded by people doing their damnedest to get in shape.
Don’t get me wrong; I love the people I worked with. They’re great and they exert more willpower every minute of every day than I probably will in my whole life. I admire their resolve, and their patience, and the fact that they think all people should be, or try to be, as in control as they are. They would never eat Fast Eddies. If they did, they’d feel bad about it. To them, it seems, it’s not the type of thing one does in polite company.
I think the reason a lot of people feel guilty when they eat things they’re “not supposed to” is because they’ve faltered, done something they promised themselves they wouldn’t, caved. For me, I just feel satisfied, full of warm food, and shortly thereafter, sick to my stomach. But then, I have endless (possibly unjustified) confidence in myself. I like to believe that my intelligence, spirit and personality are enough to make up for any deficiencies in my figure.
Yeah, I’ve got a bit of a tummy I’d like to get rid of, and my ass isn’t as pert and cute as it was when I was thirteen, but I’m a nice, moral, intelligent, decent human being with a good sense of humour and soft spot for small fuzzy animals. And, oddly, I happen to think that’s enough.