Dietland

 

With her husband’s reluctant support, Eulayla conceived of an idea to start a diet clinic that would provide its patrons with low-calorie shakes, frozen dinners, and a special exercise program. Baptists wouldn’t cook or grocery shop; they wouldn’t think about food at all, except when it was time to drink or heat up their next meal. The first Baptist Weight Loss clinic opened in Atlanta in 1978. By the late 1990s, when I was ready to join, there were more than a thousand branches worldwide.

 

When the documentary ended and the lights came back on, we waited for the orientation to begin. Meanwhile, the photo-bursting commercials played on a loop.2 There were only women in the group of new members, and several of them were quite slender. I didn’t understand why they were there, but they were all friendly with me, behaving as if we had something in common.3

 

 

 

 

Our group leader, Gladys, arrived to introduce herself. She was a black woman with an old-fashioned bouffant-style hairdo. She wore pumps that made a squishing sound as she walked. She smiled nonstop as she handed out the binders and Baptist handbooks and laminated cards printed with the Baptist Oath, which we were supposed to put in our wallets and on our refrigerators:

 

 

 

 

 

Baptists must treat their bodies like temples. Successful Baptists must incorporate the Three Tenets into their lives. First Tenet: I will not pollute my body with fattening and unhealthy foods. Second Tenet: I will exercise regularly. Third Tenet: I will spread the Baptist message to others.

 

? Baptist Weight Loss, Inc.

 

 

 

 

 

I collected the handouts, cards, and pamphlets and placed them in my shiny new binder, so thrilled to be part of Eulayla’s family. That’s what she called us: a family.

 

After the meeting was under way, a woman rushed through the door, apologizing for being late and taking a seat next to me in the back row. Janine was tall and bigboned, with cottony blond hair, and her appearance shocked us all, as much as if she’d been naked. She was wearing a radiant dress, floral patterned, with pink tights and boat-size heels on her feet, like Minnie Mouse shoes. None of the other new Baptists were dressed in bright colors, but instead wore the depressing shades of an overcast day. Looking at Janine was like looking directly into the sun.

 

I wished she hadn’t sat down next to me, since we looked like two Humpty Dumptys seated together. During the part of the meeting where we were supposed to chat with our neighbor, Janine spoke as if the two of us were the same. She even invited me out for coffee after the meeting, but I said I was busy. I had never had a fat friend and I didn’t want one.

 

Throughout the meeting, Janine spoke up, saying things like, “My whole family is fat and they think dieting is a waste of time.” Gladys shuddered at Janine’s words and continuously corrected her. We learned to say overweight or obese, not fat. We were never to say diet, either, but instead use terms such as the plan, the program, or eating healthily.

 

Toward the end of the meeting, Gladys handed each of us a booklet with “When I’m Thin . . .?” printed on the cover. There was a photograph of two smiling women carrying shopping bags. Gladys said that we would write in our “When I’m Thin . . .?” journals each week. Inside, at the top of the first page, it said, “When I’m Thin . . .?” and then there were five blank lines underneath with suggested topics such as romance, careers, and fashion. Gladys directed us to close our eyes and imagine ourselves thin. She told us to write down five things that our thin selves would be able to do that our overweight selves couldn’t.

 

The other women and I began to write, but Janine looked stunned. “You’ve got to be kidding,” she said. “I came here to lose a few pounds because of back pain. What kind of sick, self-loathing mindfuck is this?” She was flipping through the booklet, red in the face, breathless from rage.

 

“Watch your language,” Gladys said. “Baptists do not use vulgarity.”

 

Janine looked at Gladys, her eyes blazing behind her rhinestone-studded cat glasses. “Are you for real?” She flung her “When I’m Thin?” booklet at Gladys, who seemed terrified, holding up both hands to shield herself. Janine made a door-slamming exit. In her wake there was silence in the room, leaving us to contemplate the departure of the loud, angry woman, disagreeable and huge, what none of us wanted to be.

 

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