Is there a connection between my junk-food addiction …
and the fact that not one pair of pants in my closet fits properly? Is my muffin top a result of excessive muffin consumption?
This lack of pants, it’s bothering me. So, I jumped on board with the Catholics yesterday and declared my digestive system a No Cakes, Cookies, Pies, Doughnuts, Candy or Scones Zone. It had to be done.
Did I mention none of my jeans fit?
Did I mention that I go to the gym regularly and work my butt off? I do 30 minutes of cardio, 30 to 45 minutes of weight training and another 30 minutes of cardio three times weekly. On alternate days I work out in my basement. So, I’m not lethargic.
Yet when I look in the mirror, my butt is still attached and spreading to all points on the compass. I see cellulite everywhere. Everywhere, people. I feel the muscle tone buried deep under a layer of fat. I see the body of a middle-aged woman. I might even be willing to accept it in a I’m-the-best-I-can-be-for-a-45-year-old kind of way. Except I have the great good fortune of having friends who can eat like it’s an Olympic event and not gain an ounce. None of them has any body fat. I’ve never seen them bloated. Desserts, bacon, extra dollops of cream on their pie and still, flat bellies and thin thighs. They’ve had babies and can still look smoking hot in a bikini. They just have good genes.
No. I’m not fat. But I am overweight. I’m sure my BMI is higher than it should be. Essentially I was born a skinny girl with no appetite and remained reasonably thin until I turned 40. Then nature played a cruel trick on me: It gave me a ravenous appetite while slowing my metabolism to a drip. I’ve tried all sorts of things: special diets, pills, loading up on caffeine. While these things worked temporarily, they all had one thing in common: Little to no eating. Sure my jeans fit again, but I felt miserably hungry.
It’s hard to eat well in a world filled with bakeries and cupcake parties and cookie fund-raiser sales.
Yesterday, on Day One, my mother handed me a box of freshly baked cinnamon rolls from her bakery. I left them in the car all day and force-fed them to my family so I wouldn’t be tempted.
Last night at the gym, I nearly ran out to the nearest Tim Horton’s drive-through when I heard “Double McTwist 1260” for the third time while watching the Olympics on TV. In my mind I was holding a fresh-from-the-oven doughy pretzel doubled dipped in chocolate and drizzled with caramel and 1,260 calories per bite. I could smell the cinnamon, taste the gooey chocolate-caramel mix, feel it drip down my chin.
It was all I could do to keep my focus. I drank so much water I could hear my stomach sloshing as I walked to the car.
Day Two with 44 more to go.
God help me.