The Pudge Triptych · Part Two

Where’s My Goddamn Cadillac Body?

And another thing: I’m not done bitching about the pudge.

Start with Part One: The Pudge Did Not Budge

Pinkerton in a rich burgundy-and-gold caftan, hands on hips, looking distinctly unimpressed

I’m not done bitching about the wellness long con.

In The Pudge Did Not Budge, I described nine months of improving my habits, with actual benefits to sleep, digestion, fitness, and energy. My postmenopausal persistent midriff pudge, henceforth PMPMP, apparently did not receive the memo.

All of which reminds me of a weekend course I attended about twenty-five years ago: the Silva Method. Looking back, it sounds like an early encounter with what we now call manifestation.

Regardless of the virtues of the course, the guarantee made me suspicious.

According to my very flawed memory, it went something like this: if you really wanted something, say a Cadillac, and followed the method for ninety days, focusing on that Cadillac, you would either:

a) become the proud owner of a Cadillac, or

b) decide you didn’t really want the Cadillac anyway, but continue the practice for its spiritual benefits.

Please understand that I am reporting what lodged in my brain a quarter century ago. I did not retain the course materials. I did retain my suspicion.

So which outcome were they banking on?

A run on Cadillacs? Doubt it.

Choice b, in which we all outgrow our material desires?

You might think so.

But I say the smart money was on you not completing ninety consecutive, flawless days of the method.

End of.

You missed a day. Lost focus. Entertained a doubt. Whatever the lapse, there went your Cadillac.

Cynical? Yep.

But my recent wellness adventures echo that lesson of long ago.

I began this wellness odyssey with the specific promise of at least reducing the damned PMPMP. I have done the protocols. Given up my old ways of restriction and punishment. Various wellness benchmarks, but not a measuring tape, will bear witness to my efforts.

I appreciate the benefits. I intend to keep them.

I also remember what I came for.

And if they think that, somewhere between nasal breathing and nervous system regulation, I will have ascended to a higher spiritual plane and no longer entertain such vain desires, they’ve got another think coming.

I can be grateful for better sleep and still want my waist back. I see no spiritual contradiction here.

What makes me suspicious is a promise that survives every possible outcome. You get what you wanted, the method worked. You stop wanting it, the method worked. You still want it and haven’t got it, you didn’t work the method.