I hate the word dieting. I hate all that it stands for. I hate how it affected me, tortured me. In a past life I was consumed with losing weight. I lost my mind before I lost any weight.
I hate to admit that I’m on a diet. Sorta, but not really.
I’m not going to mention my exact poundage, but I’m happy with my weight. Happy with how I look. Except for one darned thing…I’ve got a trimester of fat, an inner tube of flab, however you want to call it…I have a Buddha tummy that won’t go away. I don’t care how many ab exercises I do, you’re not going to see any muscles when they’re tucked away behind a mass of fatty tissue.
I want the tummy gone, especially with Burning Man coming up, where I really will be dressed half naked.
I’m at a set weight. I can eat whatever I want and not gain weight. That said, I’m used to eating a lot these days. Typical day: Starbucks venti hot chocolate extra whip, caesar salad, chocolate chip cookies, cheeseburger, fries, and ice-cream.
So when I say diet, I simply mean cutting out the crap my body’s used to. Diet day: oatmeal for breakfast, lean cuisine at noon, another lean cuisine at 3pm, tuna salad and veggies for dinner. After every diet day, I lose 1.5 pounds. Good enough, right? The problem is I can’t stick to more than one diet day in a row! Eventually, I get invited out for dinner, then of course…I have to get the sloppy joe’s and eat every single calorie-infused french fry. I went to Spruce the other night and the bartender said, “Our french fries are the best. They’re twice-fried in two different cooking oils.” I practically lit up like a Christmas tree I was so ecstatic.
Here’s the pattern: diet day, lose 1.5 pounds, next day slip-up, back to set weight. I’ve become the yo-yo dieter. But I’m not obsessed. I slip up and just laugh at myself. Maybe I’ll be resigned to my tummy fat at Burning Man. It won’t be the end of the world. Marc has a friend who said, “I went on a diet for 30 days and I lost…30 days.” That is the funniest saying.
Signing off for the night with two Eggo waffles (extra butter, extra syrup) digesting happily in my tummy.