Fat Cat (18 page)

"Things will probably start leveling off soon," Jackie said. "A lot of that initial weight loss was from changing your diet so drastically and from starting to exercise after all those years of inactivity. Now your body is more used to it. So I expect to see less weight loss, but still a lot more improvement in your muscle mass. Remember, muscle weighs more than fat, but it looks much, much better."

Fine. Whatever. All I kept thinking about was the numbers. Yahoo!

"How much exercise do you think you're getting these days?" Jackie asked.

"I don't know, between walking to school and walking to work, it's probably about one and a half to two hours a day. It used to be more, but I can't walk home from work anymore--it gets dark too early. But I've started jogging a little on the weekends." With my anti-nuclear bra.

"You might want to add some upper-body strengthening," Jackie said. "Even push-ups while you're on your knees would be good. Or do you swim?"

"No," I answered quickly. "We, uh, don't have a pool."

"Too bad. Swimming is great for the arms. You know hospital staff has access to the rehab department's pool, right?"

No, I didn't know that.

"It's heated," she said. "You could swim there all winter."

I didn't want to hear that. It brought up too many things. I needed to change the subject.

"Can I ask you something?" I said.

"Sure."

"What do you think about ... being a vegetarian?"

"I think it's great," she said. "I've been one for eighteen years."

"What? Why didn't you say anything?"

"It's not my business to say it," Jackie answered. "People need to make their own choices. I'm just here to give them nutritional support."

"So you think it's okay? I mean, obviously you think it's okay...." "Why are you considering it?" Jackie asked.

"Well, for one thing, I just started working at the Karmic Cafe--"

"Ech," Jackie said. "The food there is terrible."

"Um, I think it's getting better. Anyway, so that's part of it. I've been eating a lot of vegetarian food for the last week or so, and I actually really like it."

"It can be very good."

"Yeah. And then last week I had to do some new research for my project, and I found out a bunch of stuff about all the drugs and hormones and chemicals that get pumped into cattle and chickens and pigs--and even fish--and then we end up eating all of that in our meat. And a lot of scientists think that's what's causing a lot of the health problems people have right now."

"I think so, too," Jackie said.

"And it's not just the drugs," I said. "Did you know they sometimes put sawdust and other things into the animals' food, just to fatten them up? And then we're eating that, too. That can't be good for us."

"Those sound like some good reasons."

"And there's one more," I said. "At least for me." It was time to confess my string theory crush.

"I found out this one scientist I really admire"--
love, adore
--"is a vegetarian. Actually, a lot of scientists have been. And I think if
they
decided that was the smart thing to do ..."

Jackie smiled. "Peer pressure--always the clincher. But I understand what you mean. Like I said, it's a very individual choice. I can't tell you whether I think it's right or wrong--I'll just help you to take care of yourself based on whatever you decide."

Sometimes you just want people to make your decisions for you. But Jackie was right--I'm sure no one else told Albert Einstein or Brian Greene or Sir Isaac Newton what to eat. They made that
decision themselves, based on their own personal and scientific judgment.

"I think I want to try it," I told her. "At least for the rest of my project. I'm working on this new theory about how our bodies go weak in response to the negative stimuli of bad food. So I should probably try not eating sawdust and growth hormones for a while and see how I feel."

"Sounds like a plan," Jackie said.

She talked me through some of the principles, like making sure I still eat plenty of whole, natural foods like I am right now.

"There are some junk food vegetarians out there," she said. "They think they can live off of chips and soda because there aren't any animal products in those. They've forgotten the vegetable part of vegetarian.

"But I'm not worried about you, Cat. You've been eating extraordinarily well."

That was nice to hear.

She told me I need to take vitamin B
₁₂
every day, since that's the only nutrient we can't get from plants. Other than that, I should be fine.

"And I'll get enough protein and everything?"

"There's plenty of protein in plant foods," Jackie said. "Fruits, vegetables, grains, seeds, nuts, beans--even a box of raisins has a little."

"Really?"

"Read the label."

Jackie's next client knocked on the door.

"Can I ask you just one more thing?"

"Sure," Jackie said, standing up to let the person in.

"I saw this quote from Einstein about how the best thing we can
do for human health and survival is to switch to a vegetarian diet. Do you think that's true?"

Jackie smiled. "Are you asking me personally or professionally?"

"Either."

Jackie thought about it for a moment. "You know, Cat, one of the things I love about your project is that you're letting yourself experience the answers to those kinds of questions. I think that's better than me telling you what I believe. I'd rather watch you do your science."

I think I actually really appreciate that.

I had a lot to think about this afternoon, and it wasn't just about going veg. It was something else that Jackie said.

"Hey, Mom," I said on the ride home, "did you know you're allowed to use the rehab pool?"

"Hmm, I guess I did know that," she said. "But I've never been much of a swimmer--not like you."

"So it's ... for staff, right?"

"And patients."

"Oh, sure ..." I hesitated. "I'm staff, right?"

My mother smiled. "Yes, you are. Are you thinking of swimming again? You used to love that."

"Thinking about it ... But nobody else goes there, right? I mean, other than people from the hospital."

"No, I'm pretty sure it's restricted."

"Oh. Okay. Great." I couldn't believe what I was about to ask. "Could I maybe borrow the car tonight?"

53

I
suppose I could have called Amanda
. Picking out a bathing suit? She would have
loved
to get in on that action--but this was even more private than shopping for a new bra.

I haven't worn a swimsuit since the summer between sixth and seventh grade. That's when my boobs started coming in. And everything else--the stomach, the butt, the whole Fat Cat package.

I used to be able to live off of Doritos and Snickers and other fine food products all summer long, and just get back in the pool and work it all off. But somehow that summer my fat outpaced my exercise, and I was one roly-poly swimmer. It didn't really matter because I was still the strongest girl in my age group on the team, but I did start feeling a little self-conscious standing around in my bathing suit without the team T-shirt to cover it up.

The first time I heard "Fat Cat" was at the Monroe Heights meet. That scumbag Willie Martin--my own teammate--shouted it while I crouched on the blocks, waiting for my start. I heard him, the pistol
went off, and I was so stunned I didn't dive in until everyone else was already two body lengths out.

I swam hard--mainly out of anger and humiliation--and managed to make up the time and still get second place. Then I climbed out of the pool, pulled my cap off, and went to the bathroom to cry.

It was mostly Willie Martin and Andy Pister saying it all summer long, and everyone heard it. Including Matt.

"Shut up," he told them a few times, but then he just started ignoring them the way I did. I tried to stay out of their way. And wear a T-shirt anytime I was out of the water.

I cut back on all the junk food, but it didn't seem to matter. My body was popping out all over, obeying some hormonal signal that said it was time to look like I'd be a great child-bearer someday.

I had some small hope tonight when I dug out that old swimsuit from the bottom of my drawer that it might still possibly fit. But of course that was a fantasy. I only wish I still weighed what I used to back when I first started thinking I was fat. Those were the days.

So I just got it over with. Grabbed my mom's keys, got in the car. It's been eighty-two days since I drove--can't say that didn't feel weird. For a moment I wasn't sure my foot would know the difference between the gas pedal and the brake.

When I got to the mall, I parked near the biggest department store and walked straight inside. I tried not to think too hard about what I was doing.

I sort of forgot it was November. Not exactly swim season. But there were still a few suits on the sale rack, and I wasn't in the mood to be picky. It just had to fit.

I found a black and green tankini that will do the job. It covers my stomach, it fits my chest--good enough. I was in and out of the store in less than half an hour. Amanda would have been impressed.

But I don't think I'm going to tell her. I'm not going to tell anyone. Is that wrong? Why wouldn't I tell my best friend I'm going to start swimming? It's not like it's anything to be ashamed of.

Except for the fact that I'm about to make a total fool of myself. All I can hope is that all the rehab patients are old and arthritic and out of shape and look even worse than I do.

I wish they sold full face masks for this sort of thing. It's one thing to expose my body to ridicule, but does everyone really have to know it's me?

What am I doing? Am I really going to do this?

54

Day 84, Wednesday, November 12

Dinner:
Homemade corn tortillas with beans, homemade salsa, avocado, lettuce, tomatoes, rice. Family didn't seem to miss the meat--too full to notice.

Waited an hour after eating, because that's what our coach always said to do.

Standing at the edge of the pool in my bathing suit tonight may have been the hardest thing I've ever done in my life.

I felt naked. And ugly. And huge.

There were only two other people in the pool: a woman who looked like she was about a hundred, wearing a bathing suit with these big ugly red and orange flowers on it and a matching swim cap,
and a guy who was maybe in his forties, doing really slow laps with a kickboard.

And I stood there feeling fat and ugly and exposed, thinking,
There was a time--

There was a time when I would have thought I was better than those people. I would have laughed at them--and not just for the silly bathing suit and cap, or for resting on a kickboard, but for not being me. Because there was a time in my life, before Willie Martin pointed out how fat I was, that I would have known I could beat those two people and anyone else in the pool. Maybe not an Olympic swimmer or someone twice my age with longer arms and legs, but definitely someone my own size, Willie Bleeping Martin included.

Because I was good. Really good. I was a strong girl, and I loved my sport. I loved competing. I loved getting in the water and showing what I could do, shaping my hands just right to create the minimum amount of drag, angling my arms and shoulders and legs perfectly so that my movement through the water looked almost effortless, so that I sped along, so much power and speed and--I guess this is the word for it--beauty. I think I really was beautiful in the water. Because no one was looking at my face or my stomach or anything else--they were just watching me swim.

And so when Willie and Matt and the rest of them took that away--or really, when my bulging body took that away--I think maybe I lost something. Something more than just an activity that was fun to do every summer and that gave me an excuse to be with Matt all day, every day. I think I actually lost a part of my personality, like someone might wake up one morning and realize their thumbs had fallen off.

It wasn't just that I was embarrassed about being fat. It was that I
was angry that part of my life was over. I'd never get to feel that strong again. I'd never get to dive into the water and forget everything but how it felt to push and pull and kick and propel myself through the pool and know I was as good as or maybe better than everybody else.

So when I stood at the edge of the pool tonight, sizing up my competition--the slow guy and the ancient granny--I knew what I'd lost. I didn't feel superior. I didn't feel like I could beat them. I didn't even know if I could keep up.

And, it must be said, standing anywhere in public wearing nothing but a swimsuit is a humbling experience anyway. But I think that might have been okay if I had known I could lap the granny.

I didn't dive in. I didn't even trust myself to do that. I took the steps, gently lowering myself into the pool like an egg about to be poached.

But here's the thing: from that moment on it was practically magic.

There are these tiny shrimp that live in potholes in the rocks of the desert, and whenever it's dry, they go dormant. You don't even know they're there. But as soon as it rains, you see them darting around in the water, as if they fell from the sky in droplets instead of just waiting around for the first sign of moisture to revive them.

Tonight I was a desert shrimp.

Something happened to me on a cellular level. I felt it as soon as the water reached my thighs. It's like some dormant portion of me moistened itself back to life, and as I glided forward into the pool and took my first few strokes, I didn't care anymore what I looked like or what people might say about me or whether they thought it was hilarious that a chubby girl was out there doing freestyle. I didn't care about anyone or anything. I just swam.

I think tonight I might have made the biggest scientific discovery of my life.