I started keeping a food diary today. I’ve never done this before, because I didn’t think I’d ever keep it up. But then I figured, what the hell. Ten pounds is not going to magically disappear at my age, even with some serious hardcore sweating on the treadmill. Gone are the days when I could eat whatever I wanted and just burn it off at the gym. I guess it’s a litle gift from Almost 35 to me.
This getting to be 35 thing is fairly perplexing. I mean, I realize I will wake up on the day and feel exactly the same way I did the day before, and that this will continue, in all likelihood, until I drop dead somewhere when I’m a nice old age. But that doesn’t mean I don’t notice the changes. The new creases between my eyes, because I have a rotten habit of squinting, those stupid fine lines on my top lip that Oil of Olay has been warning me about forever. Stuff like that. I can suddenly understand why there’s an entire industry devoted to eternal youth. Luckily I haven’t found any grey hairs yet (and don’t think I haven’t checked). The ten pounds that has decided to stay and be my friend is quite enough to deal with, thanks.
I’m kind of kicking myself over this. I spent a lot of money on a trainer for over a year, and I had a feeling that if I stopped going something would happen. I was hoping the something would be me wearing a bikini to Safeway, but no dice. Instead, I didn’t fall off the wagon, but I definitely slacked off it a bit. It’s a hard thing to realize you haven’t been vigilant, but I guess it’s reversible. This time it’s all up to me, though. I don’t have any extra bucks to spend on paying someone to motivate me.
In a way this is good. It’s a good lesson. I guess one of the hardest things about staying in shape is staying motivated, continuing to push yourself. It’s so easy to stay home and stare at the television. Your eyes glaze over, your mouth hangs open a little bit, a potato chip finds its way in….then another…. all those fatty little morsels of salty goodness just keep coming, and then before you know it, Peter Mansbridge is thanking you for watching and it’s time to turn out the lights and go to bed.
Which brings me to what is, for me, the thing that is really the hardest about keeping my girlish figure. I love those stupid morsels of salty goodness. I really do. I like them better than chocolate. How unfair is that? Why couldn’t I be passionately in love with, say, carrot sticks? Celery? A tall glass of water with a slice of lemon?
Alas, I am not, but I must end the affair. Or at least stop seeing them so often. So, to help me along, I’ve started to keep the dietary equivalent of Fonzie’s little black book. I’ll write down the times, names and amounts of my new leafy green lovers, and maybe after playing the field for a while, breaking up with the salty morsels won’t be so hard to do. Maybe I’ll have a new circle of dietary friends. Or at least relegate the salty morsels to a barely-visited friend. Better yet, a casual acquaintance.
A girl can dream, can’t she?