This is the date I now call ‘the turnaround,’ because two unforgettable things that happened:
At 2 p.m., I went to the doctor for an annual check-up, and after years of averting eye contact with the numbers on the scale, I chose, for some inexplicable reason, to look down and watch the digital numbers scrolling higher with lightening speed like Wall Street stock on a good day. When the numbers finally came to a stop, I could hear the faint echo of the nurse saying the words three-forty-five. Two hours later, I was sprawled on a chaise lounge in the living room with a bag of potato chips in one hand and a bowl of clam dip in the other, lying back to hear Oprah confess that she’d fallen off the wagon. I loved the flavor of potato chips cooked in lard (I preferred them no other way) but their real purpose was to sedate me. Knowing the truth about my weight really got under my skin, so I plunged in, ready to numb out and focus on someone else’s woes. Fortunately, I wasn’t sedated enough to miss the most important part of Oprah’s show on 1-5-09: a satellite appearance by pop singer Carnie Wilson, a woman I’ve long considered my genetic twin. She and I have battled a crippling love of food and ensuing excess weight since we were children. We’re both well versed in bouncing between the extremes of dieting deprivation and retaliatory gluttony. And both Carnie and I had spent many a year in excess of 300 pounds. She was only shown from the waist up that afternoon, but I did a double take because Carnie looked amazing. And not just because she was at a healthy weight. Her eyes were shining and radiated serenity. And somewhere briefly in her satellite appearance, Carnie mentioned that a man named Dallas helped her achieve the current state of balance she so enjoyed.
Heart racing, I ricocheted out of the chaise to the computer and did a frantic Google search until I finally found this man named Dallas…
