Sharon Feinstein

All I’ve been able to think about is food. Big succulent juicy tomatoes, a cheese board, olive oil, brown bread, on and on. I haven’t taken leave of my senses, in case you’re wondering. I’ve been on a fast and still am. All I’ve had is coffee, tea and a carton of squeezed juice since yesterday morning. This is in the name of self-discipline, motivation, and a bid to lose those extra few pounds we all want to shed.
You may have noticed that there’s a preponderance of wine in my life, dinners spread out over long, luxurious evenings out, restaurants popping up all over the place, and general sybaritic excess. So this is a bid to rein myself in and get a grip, as they say. I thought it would be a doddle, a mere lightness of touch, just one of those things you do in the background while going about your day. So I still did my 2-hour Monday work-out, attempted some work and had a big leatherback turtle campaign meeting.
But the truth is I had this gnawing, distracting, edgy thing going on all the time, not in the background as suspected but very much in the foreground. Food, please give me some. Can you imagine what it is really like to have no food if this is how I’m feeling after one day, and I haven’t even gone to sleep yet so there’s no knowing how long I’ll be able to avoid that big blue Smeg fridge winking away in the kitchen.
In Zimbabwe, where I was born and grew up, at least 70 per cent of the population are fortunate if they eat one meal a day, of around 600 calories, and that’s if they have access to food aid. That’s as obesity here rises, and magazines are packed with diet tips. Something to think about. Must go now before I gnaw through the keyboard.