I’ve been whining about a sticky five pounds for years. I’m sure everyone knows what they’re like. They’ve become unremovable. I don’t want them. I’ve tried modest measures. Firm measures. Herculean measures. And desperate measures. They’re still there. I’m sure that they enjoy themselves, laugh at my torment, and augment the firmness of their attachment every chance they get. I’ve had it with them.
This year, I decided that they will be gone. Actually, it was last year, but it’s only April now, and I hate to admit how long it took. I decided I’d fight this war on several fronts, the two main ones being diet and exercise. Jiggering with the scales will work too, but that would be cheating, and I want an honest victory.
In my corner, I’ve a few allies. The Commander agreed to fight by my side, offer support, refrain from undermining my plan, and share in the extra cooking and shopping. He has his motivation #reply-18053430 too. As well, my team includes Dr. Aitkins, Dr. Pritican, Dr. Ballard, Dr. Seusse, and Dr. Phil. OK, maybe not Dr. Ballard and Dr. Seusse, although a couple of months of hunger makes pet food look tempting, and whimsical poetry can distract the mind from tummy growls.
I decided to take bits from many diets. I reduced carbohydrates, fats, protein, salt, sugar, saturates, calories, and cholesterol. I increased my fibre and bitchiness. I drank water. Lots of water. Olive oil replaced butter. And so many green leafy vegetables, I felt I was becoming a rabbit. It seemed I was spending my life either cooking or chewing. But there was also exercising.
Although I’d enjoy a recreational swim almost every day, this provided inadequate exercise. Pool time became serious. I was there for business, not pleasure. Lengths became the norm. Continuous. No stopping, no resting, and no chatting. Just ever increasing speed and number. And no getting out until all ten toes are wrinkled like prunes. One hour minimum. And no skipping a day. No matter how lazy I felt. And I felt lazy plenty of times.
When the sun peeked above the horizon, I’d see it through the windows in the fitness centre. Yes, I began before dawn. Rowing machine half-hour. Stationary bicycle quarter-hour. Callisthenics between machines. Stair-stepper for thirty floors. Weights. Finishing with two treadmill miles. Some stretching, a visit to the sauna, a shower, then home. Seven days a week.
Then it’s off to the mall. It’s about a mile each way. I enjoy walking. But I could enjoy it just as well without snow, wind, and traffic. On the way home, I’d re-trace my footsteps for lighter walking, but this was offset by the additional weight of what I’d bought. (I soon learned not to use a cart. If I’m uncomfortable carrying it around the store, carrying it home won’t be any picnic.)
Occasionally, late afternoon or early evening, I’d take a leisurely stroll with The Commander. Walking is good for weight reduction: it takes me further from the kitchen, and by this time of day, I need the distance. The more the better. We’d chat as we went along. I welcomed the distraction.
Eventually, I achieved my goal. Honestly too. No little dance on the scales. No taking a big breath and holding. And no resting my finger on the night-table. (I told myself I was checking for dust, and the disappearing pound was just a bonus.) I’m done. I look forward to swapping my whining for some equally annoying self-righteous boasting.
But temptation surrounds me. This morning, coming out of the store, I soon learned that I was dressed too warmly. I set my groceries down on a bench and began to remove my scarf. A gentleman sat at the opposite end of the bench. He was holding the biggest ice-cream cone I’ve ever seen. He spotted someone he knew, held up his cone, and announced in a booming voice how wonderful it tasted. And he said they were on sale too. His grin drilled into my conscience. He seemed to be in Heaven.
Arriving home, I looked forward to my time on SI as an escape. Then I encountered today’s food posts on this thread. Not my lucky day.
Cheers, PW. |
