Bagel Dog, I wish I’d never met you. You are cheap ($2.50) convenenient (60 seconds in the microwave) and delish (split open and add some Grey Poupon).
Trouble is, you’re 570 calories (without the mustard) and I can’t afford that.
And so, my love, ours must be a one-time thing. You were juicy and satisfying in the moment, but our encounter must not be repeated, for as much as I love you, I know you’re no good for me.
We’ve all fallen for those ads that shout RAPID WEIGHT LOSS WITHOUT HUNGER! Even though we know intellectually that the disclaimer “results not typical” means that they are lying, we want to believe the lie.
An article in SmartMoney talks about the lies that the diet business, a gazillion-dollar industry, perpetuates on us hopeful losers.
I’ve been slowly slipping off the wagon. First it was pizza, then it was Taco Bell, then the mother of all fast food: a quarter pounder with cheese and large fries.
Yesterday, I woke up feeling like total crap and for some reason, I didn’t make the connection between the junk I was eating and the junky way I felt.
Hey, we all need to keep re-learning the same stuff, right?
So, last night I downloaded “SuperSize Me” from Netflix. I sat horrified as the story unfolded about what happened to the filmmaker’s body when he embarked on a month-long McBinge — eating nothing but McDonald’s, three times a day.
The person lolling about on the couch, too tired and depressed to get up and go to bed, was instantly recognizable. It was me.
The scariest part of the movie talked about addiction. The high-fat diet actually makes you crave more of the greasy stuff and provides a high when consuming it. Worse, McDonald’s knows it. It’s engineered that way.
After nearly destroying his health, the hero goes back to his organic vegan lifestyle (his girlfriend is a chef). It takes months to lose the weight (25 pounds) and the ill effects (high cholesterol, liver damage, vitamin deficiency) that came with his 30-day McDiet.
What he willingly did to himself, I (and millions of others) unconsciously do to our bodies every day.
I will never again see the golden arches as the gateway to fun. Beyond them lies the grave.
I should be rooting for them. Everybody and his cousin made a New Year’s Resolution to start working out. The shiny new determination coupled with a free-month discount offer mailed out by the Y has resulted in an overflow at the gym. There is no place to park, there is a wait for the best machines (the ancient rowing gizmo is always free) and the entry is so packed with kids we can’t even get in the door.
The old-timers tell me this happens every January and that it will be back to normal by the end of February. And I can’t wait.
As a fairly new fitness buff myself, you’d think I’d be happy for the newbies to discover what exercise can do for their physical and mental health.
But, no. I’m counting the days until they’re gone. I hate this in myself. I’m working on improving my attitude. Meanwhile, get off of my treadmill!
Only a mother could love this mean little persimmon-eater
This is a story about preconceptions. When I lived in Indiana, we had a persimmon tree. Every fall, the tree would produce copious amounts of small orange fruit that the local opossums loved. (See mug shot at right). I figured if an ugly, rat-tailed critter like the ‘possum loved persimmons, they were only fit for ugly, rat-tailed critters.
I put them on my “do not send” list when I signed up for “Farm Fresh to You,” a to-your-door organic produce service (more on this wonderment later).
Alas, my request was too late and my shipment arrived with half a dozen persimmons.
Now, my vow is to try any fruit or vegetable put in front of me, but I have to say I was afraid of that ‘possum fruit. The persimmons of my youth were small, bitter, and hard unfit for human consumption unless laced with 3 pounds of sugar and cooked down to a jelly-like substance.
I found a recipe that used three kinds of fruit, courtesy of my organic farmer friends, and here’s what it looked like.
Winter Fruit Salad
The persimmons, which are hiding under the fuji apples and the satsuma mandarins, are as big as tomatoes and as sweet as peaches.
What a nice surprise. I may even try brussels sprouts.
As a new convert to a healthy lifestyle, I am feeling less self-conscious about my size, because I am “in the solution,” as leading nutritionist Nancy Bennett calls it. I know that as I continue my journey with proper exercise and unprocessed food, the pounds will continue to come off.
Yesterday, however, my new self-confidence was shattered.
I was at a workshop, and as I walked between the rows of tables to get a cup of tea, I knocked over someone’s water glass. She was very gracious. I went to get her some dry handouts, she found someone to change the tablecloth and all was well.
Still, I couldn’t help wondering if it was my big butt or my big purse that had caused the accident. Worse: I knew that SHE thought it was the former.
I was still smarting from the embarrassment when the worst happened, I did it AGAIN. This time, I spilled the water on one of the past presidents of the host organization. He was stone-faced about it. Again I imagined his judgment of me.
In both cases, I fell back on my go-to defense: self-deprecating humor. I mocked my own clumsiness.
Dare I hope that as I lose weight, I will be more graceful? Or will I just be a thinner klutz?
We all know that being in a bad mood can lead to binge eating. Sometimes you need to take a walk to shake it, or call a friend, or slap yourself upside the head. OR you could just go to YouTube! Here is my latest favorite video with a Cute Factor that’s off the charts. I dare you to watch this and remain grumpy.
So, today I spent waaaay too much time hunched over the computer trying to de-bug a project. All of a sudden, it was 4:30. Time to go to my water aerobics class.
I faced a dilemma. Go to class, like I should, or take a nap, like I wanted to? Or, watch funny dog videos on YouTube until it was too late to go to class, thereby avoiding the decision.
I did the right thing. I grabbed my little pink gym bag and headed for the Y. And it felt goooood.
A small victory over my habitual sloth, but nonetheless a step in the right direction.
I’ve been slowly slipping off the wagon. First it was pizza, then it was Taco Bell, then the mother of all fast food: a quarter pounder with cheese and large fries.
