Lathany

I was reading a post yesterday about parents and calories. It reminded me of a experience of my own - although somewhat different from that of the poster. And I thought that, as it’s about to be the season of dieting, I’d share it.

When I was at school I was overweight, the fattest girl in my class. So, I was on a diet from roughly age nine to age eighteen. My parents agreed I needed to lose weight - both were also on diets - and I entered the world of counting calories. It didn’t work too well and, until I reached university, I was constantly depressed about my weight and about all the negative comments I got. However, going off to university was when things changed. And, about a decade or two after I graduated, I put all the pieces together and worked out why.

There were two big reasons for the change. Both are somewhat linked to my mother taking up running in her early forties - pretty much as I hit my teens. Back at the start of her running career, I mean for the period that I was at home as a teenager, my mother progressed from fun runs to marathons.

As keen runners will know, running does interesting things to the rest of your schedule as you have to fit the runs in - particularly anything over ten miles. It plays havoc with meal scheduling. Combined with this, my mother was the cook of the family. At the weekend she would tell us that dinner would be at 1pm and then she’d go out for a fourteen mile run. She’d get back just before midday and have breakfast. 1pm would come and go and, about 1:30pm I’d get myself something to eat as I wouldn’t have eaten since a much earlier breakfast time. Then around 3pm, dinner would turn up. We had a plate-clearing policy and so I’d eat all that as well. This is the first of the two big reasons - I was eating more than three meals, particularly at the weekend.

The second big reason was something I mentioned near the start of my post. That my mother was also on a constant diet. The reason for this changed when she started running from wanting to look thinner to wanting to be thinner to run better times. And, consequently, whenever she dished up a meal, she always dished herself the smallest portion. However, size is a relative thing and so when she was hungry - usually following a long run - all the portions would consequently swell so that the smallest would satisfy her. And that “clear your plate” policy hit again here.

All this meant that when I left for university - and being away from home for thirty weeks of the year - I lost a stone without any dieting. When I moved to London after I graduated - I lost two more stone.

These days, I do keep an eye on what I eat and drink (I find I need less per day than when I was younger). All the early calorie counting is useful for this as I know what I’m consuming. It was also useful for the post-twins diet I went on to lose a couple of stone about fifteen years ago before going back to work. But I’ve never gone back to the depression of my teens.

Also, finally, I’d like to think that, had I gone back home after university, I might have become smarter about the situation. Taken over more of the cooking (which I also, much later, found out that my mother hated doing), ignored my mother’s announced times and gone with my own better judgement, had separate meal times and/or fought back much harder against the portion sizes and the clear plate policy.

It’s how long it took me to realise that strikes me now.

Last Friday we (the four of us) were invited out for a meal to celebrate my father-in-law's 75th. There were ten of us - my parents-in-law, my brother-in-law and partner, us, my mother-in-law's sister Carol and Carol's eldest grandson. The meal was Italian (Amici’s) which was good (I had Pizza Capricciosa followed by an enormous Tiramisu) although the service was a little on the slow side. Ryan had also ordered the Pizza Capricciosa and seemed to be struggling to finish it. My mother-in-law suggested leaving the last bit (roughly two or three square inches) and Carol looked horrified. She talked about the global warming effects of food wastage and how everyone should clear their plate.

Now, I lived with her for a few years (after I gave up on the Oxford-London commute but bateleur was still doing his DPhil) and I know what she's like. There was the famous "Pringles" incident where, two months after I moved out she came to visit us in Feltham (our first bought place). With her she brought a tube of Pringles that she had found that was opened but not finished. I had to break the news to her that it wasn't mine and had been left by another couple of friends she'd had staying (to be fair, I think she also brought a few things that I had left, but it's the Pringles I particularly remember). This led to an even more entertaining exchange - she did not want to take it back, but was equally horrified by my suggestion that two-month old Pringles were probably stale and therefore to just tip them. Eventually we took pity on her and took the Pringles, quietly binning them after she had left.

I understand her point about food wastage - it isn't a good thing but, like everything else, there's understanding that and there's over-reaction.

However, I also have another issue with this scenario - that of food consumption and dieting. It's been a long time since I've been on a strict diet, but back when I was trying to lose weight (the first time after I first left (my parents') home and the second time, about a year after the twins arrived, of losing the extra pregnancy weight I'd gained) one of the things that made a difference to me was learning not to finish my plate when I stopped being hungry. At home, this wasn't such an issue as we didn't have huge portions (and back then I was mainly responsible for measuring my own) but it particularly mattered when eating out and also with takeaway food. Consequently, I really don't feel it's a good thing to force anyone to clear their plate.

Of course, Ryan actually finished his pizza and also the three scoops of gelato he had to follow. Not to mention that Carol's nearly eighty and having a fight with her over the household rules she learned from a mother who had the wartime routine down pat is probably not a great move anyway. It could well have reached my father-in-law (despite being at the other end of the table). But the whole incident stuck in my head.