"Hi. My name is Chloe."
"Hi Chloe," we all say in unison. Chloe stands about 5'1" and while she weighs about 170lbs soaking wet, she looks as though she weighs more like 370 lbs.
"I-I'm Chloe," she stutters as drops her gaze to the bur bur carpet and fiddles with her sweaty palms, "and-"
"It’s ok Chloe. Just...let...it...out," Nancy says while demonstrating her 'let it out' breathing technique.
Chloe nods. "I'm a double sandwich eater."
Gasp! The room falls quiet as Chloe plops down in her chair, causing the metal legs to creak. By our reaction to her confession, one could clearly guess we are double sandwich eaters too. We all gave one another quick side glances and slight shoulder shrugs. Don, the Rudy clap guy, stands up and begins to clap. We all clap our hands with Rudy Clap Guy’s rhythm (except me…clapping the Rudy clap is just plain stupid) clap…pause…clap…pause…clap…clap…clapclapclapclap. Nancy stands up and commissions us to join hands, “Repeat after me: God grant me the serenity to accept the proper portions; courage to eat only the serving size; and wisdom to read labels. Eating one sandwich at a time; Enjoying one bite at a time; Accepting cravings as the pathway to peace; That I may be reasonably happy with just one sandwich and be supremely happy within. Amen.”
We repeat the prayer, even as silly as it is, sit down, and officially start the Beginners Runner’s Anonymous (better known as B.R.A—yes we discussed changing the name because some guys don’t like it all that much but Nancy said we shouldn’t define ourselves by labels) meeting.
Yes, I admit it. I am a part of the Double Sandwich Club or the Foot long Sub Club (don’t judge). Sandwiches just seem so innocent, you know? I mean, how much harm can they cause? That peanutty peanut butter and sweet jelly (or jam— pick your poison) couldn’t harm a fly. Ok, well, yes, peanut butter can be deceiving to mice—especially if there’s a trap at the end of it, but for us not so much. That deli thin slice of honey ham and the perfectly sliced deli cheese seem so unassuming piled ever so slightly on no high fructose corn syrup honey wheat slices. How can that be harmful?
Well, I’ll tell you how. You eat enough of that friggin peanutty peanut butter and sweet stupid jelly in one sitting and you’re up to 270 (or more—I don’t know) pounds in no time. Unassuming ham and cheese my ass! So if I know this about sandwiches, why do I continue to subject myself to the Double Sandwich syndrome?
These past few days I’ve been paying more attention to my diet. Have I made drastic changes? Nope. I don’t plan to, not now anyway (remember—I’m channeling the tortoise). But, none the less, I’m noticing things about my eating habits that are (1) pretty stupid, (2) pretty eye opening, and (3) just plain gluttonous. Today, while crafting my perfect PB&J, I noticed an overwhelming urge to make another one. I fought against it. It was harsh—I literally had to throw the knife in the sink like it was a hot comb. In the end though, I only ate one sandwich, and afterword I was satisfied.
I learned something about myself today that I think we should all kind of wake up and smell the coffee about—I only wanted that second sandwich because I knew I could have it. All the fixings were there and I could easily make another sandwich if I wanted. No one could tell me no. No one would be looking at me and say “Eeew. You’re greedy.” No one in the house would go without. But just because I could…does that mean I should? We take, eat, and buy more because we can--but does that mean we should. Wouldn't just one of something suffice (I'm making an exception to shoes here)? I think it would and I'm going to try damn hard to.
The Runner
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