Dieting in portugal
One fast move or I’m gone, I read Jack’s words the night before leaving for Portugal. I understand him. Jack was escaping fame, while I am running from this feeling that suddenly started bubbling in my belly again, months after showing no symptoms.
An intolerance to life being still, too still, when I no longer find comfort in stillness. A bloating that has the habit to show up unannounced, when I expect it the least. I have put on weight last month, and it went all straight in my head. A thousand kilos of thoughts and questions. Staying or Going? Stillness or Motion? Stability or Adventure? I know the pattern, I have to move fast if I want to avoid the weight to reach my heart.
Time-off. Salty air and a change of perspective to understand what exactly is triggering the bloating. I board the plane, my head swollen. Heavy weight. I better go on a diet, and make it strict: only 1200 thoughts per day.
It takes time to adapt to a new food regimen. Scenarios play over and over in my head, a broken disc that does nothing except breaking even more. I can’t help myself, the craving still too strong. I binge eat on thoughts while flying over Spain.
Upon landing, I decide the best approach is to keep busy. Public transport to reach my destination, although a taxi is just 20euros. Working out the logistics to keep my head occupied. After an hour unsuccessfully looking for the right bus stop, I decide that no, I don’t want to get out of my head that badly. Dwelling in my misery tastes so sweet. Uber it is, I give a price to comfort but purposely turn a blind eye to the cost of staying chained to my mind. Nothing works more against being out of your head than a 45-minutes car ride.
I step out the Uber, I’ve arrived. Light backpack, heavy head. Staying or Going? I am exhausted. So much seems at stake, isn’t it? Deciding what to do with the next chapter crushes me and yet it feels as if I need to decide as fast as one turns a page in a calendar. The pressure of time.
I check in at the hostel, a house on the ocean, low season and bright blue sky. Somewhere through the unpacking I lose some weight, but it’s a yo-yo effect. The Staying vs. Going dilemma leaves some space to another sour feeling, the usual silly panic that hits me every time I get somewhere without a plan. The panic of being bored. Of being alone. Of looking like a fool. I put weight back on.
Half an hour in, and I am already walking around town, my eyes catching only what my mind tells I miss: a plan. Plans for lunch, plans to meet-up for surfing, plans to watch the sunset, plans for the rest of the week. Suddenly, everyone seems to have a plan. I don’t even know these people, but I am sure they all have a plan.
I observe my mind going through the process, I’ve seen this before. Nothing new, I recognize the symptoms. I don’t need a plan, I need to look behind the need to have a plan. My oldest illness, I carry that with me since I used to wear blue mascara.
What’s behind this feeling of needing a plan? Of keeping busy? Of escaping boredom? Wasting time is really time wasted?
I allow myself to sit down and have lunch. Back against the wall, facing my panic while facing the sun. Ocean in front of me, I order a wrap. I notice a couple of thought-kilos dropping while I wait for the food to come. The sound of the ocean starts doing me good. The crashing of the waves crashes the castles of thoughts I built and washes away the remains. Quiet at last. For now, at least. The water reminds me to allow time to do its job. A hour at the time.
Coming back to the hostel, more open, more faithful. Not light, but lighter. A nice chat, a corner by the window to do some work, cosmic talks over a late dinner. The sound of the ocean.
I wake up the next morning feeling skinnier. My head emptier. More spacious. I have a choice today: stuff it with drama again, or keep it breezy. It’s really a choice. So easy to start over, throw out of the window the effort I made on my first day of diet. Indulging in a little story to tell myself. Binge-thinking over breakfast. I can do that, or I can listen to the ocean.
This time, I choose the ocean. And I feel getting in shape again.
