| Wind
of change
by Jennifer Moore
Two years ago I was a fat, frazzled forty-four year old frump. There
was no denying it - I’d really let myself go since the divorce.
Derek had remarried and fathered two children in the intervening
years and although I’d put on enough weight for triplets,
I was still very much alone. Everyone kept telling me it would get
easier with time but as the weeks and months slipped imperceptibly
into years I only felt more and more miserable.
I didn’t go out any more. I didn’t bother with my appearance;
I knew I looked a mess but I just didn’t have the energy to
do anything about it. There were mornings when it was as much as
I could manage to haul myself out of bed and drag myself to work.
I hated my job too – I’d only taken it to make ends
meet now Derek had a new family to support. I got myself through
the day with chocolate bar after chocolate bar, with crisps and
cakes and greasy bacon sandwiches from the café across the
road. I guess you could call it comfort eating, only it was no comfort
whatsoever. No matter how much junk food I stuffed in I still felt
as miserable and empty inside as ever. And just when I thought things
couldn’t get much worse I developed my little ‘problem’.
As embarrassing medical conditions go, this was a real stinker.
Chronic flatulence. There, I’ve said it. It’s not something
I like to talk about very much as you can imagine but, strange as
it sounds, I actually owe my happiness to excess gas. It might be
best to gloss over the finer details of how my condition manifested
itself – needless to say it involved a lot of blushing on
my part, the purchase of ever more powerful desk-top air-fresheners,
an increasingly painful and swollen stomach that none of the remedies
I bought from the chemist could ease, and eventually a mortifying
meeting with my supervisor and the stuck-up woman from Personnel
concerning the amount of time I was taking off work without a doctor’s
note. Rather than explain myself, I handed in my notice on the spot
and ran crying from the building never to return.
It was that same night, as I lay sobbing on the sofa, unable to
watch EastEnders through my tears, that I finally decided enough
was enough. Much as I hated going to the doctors about anything
– let alone something as personal and excruciatingly awkward
as this – I clearly couldn’t carry on this way any longer.
‘So, Mrs Hartford, what can I do for you today?’
The doctor had beautiful long blonde hair and didn’t look
a day over twenty-one. She was depressingly, fragrantly perfect.
I felt so stupid sitting there, I just couldn’t get the words
to come out.
‘Blood pressure,’ I stammered eventually. ‘I just
wanted to get my blood pressure checked.’
My blood pressure was a little on the high side as it turned out,
and I squirmed through a mini lecture about salty diets and excess
weight before fleeing the surgery. In despair I headed for the health-food
shop, scanning the shelves for any herbal or homeopathic remedies
I might not have tried yet. In the end I settled for a giant tub
of peppermint capsules and a box of peppermint tea bags for good
measure.
‘That should keep you going for a bit,’ said the man
behind the counter.
‘Bit of a dodgy tummy,’ I muttered. ‘I heard that
peppermint’s good for the digestion.’
‘It certainly is,’ he smiled. He had a lovely, calming
smile. ‘Forgive the hard sell, but I don’t suppose you’d
be interested you in a new yoga class I’m setting up, would
you? Yoga can be beneficial for all sorts of problems you know.’
‘Oh no,’ I blushed, ‘I don’t think I’m
really the leotard type.’
‘Not a leotard in sight,’ he grinned. ‘Jogging
bottoms and t-shirts are fine. Whatever’s comfy.’
‘No, really. Thanks but no thanks.’
‘Let me give you a leaflet anyway,’ he said. ‘Just
in case you change your mind. We can only run the classes if we
get 6 or more. You’d be doing me a real favour.’ He
smiled again.
‘I’ll think about it,’ I found myself promising.
Of course I had no intention of going. I just wasn’t the yoga
type. Bending didn’t come naturally to me and at the moment
I definitely couldn’t afford to let certain muscles relax
in polite company. But there was something about the man’s
smile that I couldn’t dismiss so easily. I went back to the
health food shop the next day on the pretext of buying some dried
fruit and rice cakes. Perhaps if I could cut out some of the junk
food, I reasoned, my ‘problem’ might be slightly less
noxious.
The man was stacking shelves by the doorway when I walked in.
‘Hello again,’ he said. ‘How can I help you today?
Or have you come to sign up for the yoga class?’
‘I want to change my diet,’ I stammered. ‘I need
to get myself back in shape. And I’ve been experiencing some
- er - digestive problems lately. To be honest I don’t really
know where to start.’
‘Well I could recommend a couple of supplements,’ he
said. ‘And some brown rice and seaweed soups perhaps, but
beyond that you’d be better off stocking up on some fresh
fruit and veggies.’
He talked me through some of the vegetarian products they stocked
and sold me a no-nonsense healthy-eating book that promised to change
my life in just two months. I left feeling genuinely excited and
optimistic about the future for the first time in as long as I could
remember. Somewhere between ‘hello’ and ‘see you
on Friday’, I had even agreed to try out the yoga class on
the understanding that I could stay at the back and leave at any
time if I felt uncomfortable. Nathan, as I discovered he was called,
was clearly wasted in the health food retail arena. With a smile
like that he could sell anything to anybody.
I managed half a class before my stomach started cramping and I
needed to slip out the back. But I had surprised myself. I was still
as fat and graceless as ever but just turning up had been such an
achievement in itself that I couldn’t help but feel pleased.
I celebrated with some celery sticks and hummus.
During the next few weeks I kept up with the new diet and yoga classes,
staying a bit longer each time and practising some of the moves
during the week. And little by little I started to notice a change.
Nothing dramatic – I didn’t wake up one morning as a
bendy size 10 – but definitely a change for the better. My
clothes sat a little looser on me than before and I found I had
more energy for walks and housework than in the past. My complexion
looked healthier and my ‘symptoms’ were definitely starting
to ease off.
I was visiting the health food shop almost every day on the pretext
of stocking up or checking details for the next yoga class. But
really it was just an excuse for another chat with Nathan. He even
took to making me a cup of peppermint tea when the shop was quiet
and we would set the world to rights from the relative comfort of
the high stools he kept behind the counter. I found myself pouring
out all the unhappiness I’d stored up over the past few years
– I even, blushingly, came clean about my ‘problem’
as I wanted to explain why I had yet to complete an entire yoga
class – and he listened with a patience and kindness that
I found as beguiling as his smile.
When, one pepperminted morning, Nathan mentioned that his sales
assistant was moving away and he needed to look for a replacement,
I nearly fell right off my stool with excitement. The rest of my
life had taken such a turn for the better lately – my lotus
position in particular was coming on a treat – but my employment
situation was still as dismal as ever.
‘Would you consider someone with no retail experience?’
I asked.
‘If they were intelligent and trustworthy and knew the shop
inside out,’ he smiled. ‘And providing, of course, that
they knew how to make a decent cup of peppermint tea…’
Well, that was two years ago now. Anyone who knew me at my lowest
would have laughed in my face if I told them that one day I’d
be a slim, yoga-loving partner in a health food shop. I’d
have laughed myself, come to that. But here I am. I know it’s
never good practice to embark on a relationship with your boss but
I just couldn’t resist that smile. Besides, since Nathan made
me a full-time partner in the business earlier this year, he’s
not technically my boss any more. And of course from August he’ll
be my husband. I still don’t know quite how it all happened
really. Nathan just smiles when I ask him and says that from the
first time I walked through the shop door he saw a funny, kind,
wonderful person, even if I’d lost sight of her myself.
We just want a small ceremony – close friends and family.
We’ve chosen a vegetarian menu for the reception; cauliflower
and Jerusalem artichoke soup followed by a mushroom and bean risotto.
There’ve been a few raised eyebrows; anyone who’s ever
eaten Jerusalem artichokes will know their infamous gassy effects
but we don’t care. It was, quite literally, an ill wind that
blew me here in the first place and I’m grateful to it. The
way I look at it, that’s something worth celebrating.
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