Sigh. Where to begin?
Three months ago I started back on Operation Chub Reduction and as of last friday's Moment of Truth, I'm down a cumulative five.
(Please, hold your thunderous applause until the end after all of the speakers have spoken. Thank you.)
You know what sucks? I like food. A lot. It's like my own personal brand of heroin. (Thanks for the line, Edward Cullen.) I like to put it on plates, and then eat it. Food, that is. Sometimes, I don't even need the plate. I can just grab it from inside its original packaging and eat it that way. I particularly like the foods known as Potato Chips, Reeses Peanut Butter Cups and Sprite. Those are some of my favorites.
You know what else sucks? I'm not a big exerciser. I mean, sure… I can walk. And not only can I, but I do almost EVERY LOVIN' DAY without fail. I lace up my walking shoes, turn on E Entertainment Television underground in my home gym/bomb shelter, and spend 30 minutes shakin' what my mama gave me while learning about what a really great guy Zac Efron is, or how Nicole Ritchie weighs 80 pounds soaking wet.
But not once do I love how it makes me feel. It's just another checked box on my List of Things to Endure If I Ever Want to Stop Whining About My Chub.
And I really AM feeling a bit whiny today, so bear with me, when I say this: dieting blows. No, I mean it. It really, really, really, really does.
I like to torture myself, so I picked up that new issue of People magazine because a) I needed to learn all about Valerie Bertinelli's triumphant return to a bikini and b) there really ARE well-written articles in that magazine.
As I finished the article, I felt empty. I desperately wanted Valerie to tell me about the newly discovered Amazonian Rain Forest beetle whose droppings, when mixed with simple tap water, produced AMAZING weight loss results! But no. Apparently it was achieved through good old fashioned knee injuring running and eating virtually none of my preferred foods.
Here's the deal: I'm going to give myself a good few days to wallow in my self pity before refocusing and moving past this current state of disarray. I just needed to check in and keep it real.
REAL SUCKY, that is.