Bon Bons to Yoga Pants

Chapter 10-Diet Dr Pepper

Except for the low drone of the TV in the background broadcasting an old baseball game, the pub remained silent and empty that night. Waking up early to exercise had thrown off my usual routine, so I enjoyed the near-quiet with a little sigh and another drink of my favorite medical personality, Diet Dr Pepper.

After defying all odds and refusing to have a slice of pizza with Rachelle at lunch, I went to my last class, then to work. Now my boss Pat stood behind the counter at the opposite end, head tilted back, thick, hairy arms hanging at his sides, gaping at the old TV hanging above the bar. He'd already seen that particular game twenty times, but still watched it with rapt attention.

With no customers around, my options for work dwindled significantly.

Homework? I thought. Done.

Glasses clean? I glanced at the dishwasher underneath the counter. Running.

Tables wiped? My nose wrinkled as I surveyed the tables in the room. Walking to each table didn't have a lot of appeal. No, but that can wait until later. Like, the next shift.

All my arithmetic meant there was nothing left to do until a customer showed up. A giddy rush swept through me. Time for my favorite past time of all.

Eating.

I pranced to the back, regretting it when the muscles on top of my leg—whatever those were called—protested the movement. I'd expected to be sore immediately after working out, but it hadn't happened, so I'd fallen into false security. The soreness had startled settling in like it meant to stay hours after the gym. The less I moved, the less it hurt, but the tighter it became. I had no idea how to get rid of it.

"Why do people exercise if it just hurts?" I asked no one, slowing to a walk. Food had never given me pain. I glanced down at my ample belly and grimaced. Well, not physical pain anyway.

The metallic fridge in the back of the pub was a beautiful sight to behold; two doors, a chrome-like exterior, and large enough to fit a couple of Lexies inside, which was saying something. I used to call it the magic portal to happiness. Instead of reaching for the handle and tugging it open, however, I stared at it. It wasn't really the magic portal to happiness, was it? No.

More like the magic portal to my next stop: 300 pounds.

Like a sick video that I couldn't get rid of, I replayed the moment when Bitsy weighed me in at 259 pounds. Although the rush of shame and disappointment still felt hot, I also remembered the euphoria of refusing the pizza that afternoon.

If I could refuse pizza with Rachelle, I could refuse dinner with Pat. There was nothing in that fridge that I'd be able to eat only 400 calories worth of and stop myself, and that's all I had left for the day.

"Fine!" I glared at the fridge. "I'll eat when I get home. I hope you're happy, magic portal of misery!"

My eyes drifted to a clock in the back with cats all over it. Pat had a sick fascination with the creatures, and owned at least twenty. One hour. I had one hour left to bide my time and stay away from the fridge of goodness.

With a dramatic turn, I marched out of the back and into the front. Still empty.

"What do I do?" I whispered in a panic. I wasn't used to passing my time without food in hand! If I didn't find something, I'd succumb, and with hunger like this, I'd eat everything in the fridge.

Bitsy's voice popped into my head like a mental drill sergeant, as if she could detect my cowardly thoughts from afar.

Even if you can't work out, just keep your body moving as much as you can.