Nearly two years ago, I quit smoking and for the most part, I have remained firmly on the wagon except for a few weak moments in Las Vegas last year with a couple of South Africans. Anyway, I feel great and every day that I get up and my first thought isn't about a cigarette, I am grateful. Most of the time, I cannot believe that I ever smoked. Sometimes, however, I get an urge so strong that it's all I can think about. And in those moments, I have an internal conversation that begins with a "Don't even think about it" pep talk and ends with some sort of sweet, carbohydrate-laden reward. My mother tells me to reward myself with a brisk walk or twenty minutes on the elliptical and because I love her, I mute the phone while I scream obscenities in reply.
But she is right. It would be so much healthier to associate pleasure with exercise and not food. I am an emotional eater. My stress response is to snack. So lately, with the pressures of my job building to a critical mass, I started to worry about the size of my ass and the fact that it was expanding at the speed of sound.
So, back on the HCG diet.
Again.
It's a quick and dirty way to lose a pant size or two, which is especially relevant for me because in about two months, Dallas and I are once again headed to Mexico to celebrate our first anniversary. There is a catch, however. Our friends, Ron and Suzy, are joining us on this trip. It's one thing for my husband to witness the dimpling of my thighs. It's something else entirely to share that sight with our friends and since I'm not really a sarong-wearing gal, it looks like I'll have to resort to the old standby of diet and exercise.
I just wish I wasn't so cranky (Dallas nodding vigorously).
And it would be nice if the stress level at work eased up just a bit so that my body would quit manufacturing cortisol in levels large enough to export.
And I'd like for the IRS to inadvertently hit delete and erase our file.
And I'd like our insurance adjuster to actually get on the leaky roof instead of eyeballing it from the ground and pronounce the water streaming from the ceiling in the foyer a "fluke" event.
And I'd like the owl in the tree who hoots ALL NIGHT LONG to take his show on the road to some other neighborhood. He could invite his equally noisy canine friend who scrapes a metal bowl on the concrete ALL NIGHT LONG and make it a duet.
And I'd like Adam Lambert to win American Idol.
Amen.
2 comments:
Oh Wack-a-do, oh how I love you. You are so me.
I am reading a new book by David A. Kessler MD. called The End Of Overeating: Taking Control Of The Insatiable North American Appetite. It's bloody fascinating. I saw him interviewed on Stephen Colbert's The Colbert Report. He used to be with the USFDA. It is fascinating because he gets several food industry insiders to speak off the record, anonymously, of course. You wouldn't believe the shit they do to the food these days. I'm waiting for Michael Moore to take this one on. I highly recommend it.You won't be able to put it down. Better than that though, is that you'll get some amazing insights into the brain neuroscience behind WHY we are prone to over-eating in response to stress. I know for me, when I become AWARE of stuff like this, it helps me to understand my behaviour and in turn helps me to change these ingrained habits. Have lost 38lbs so far.
xo R
PS. Deep cleansing breath...Deep cleansing breath...you're doing fine!
Well, you are a MUCH better woman than me! Firstly, you have quit smoking for so long. Kudos to you. Yeah, I quit, for a little over 7 months, then the election and the ensuing results sent me in a tizzy. End of quitting. Perhaps I should look at it like "hey, I am NOT a quitter!". No? Doesn't work like that? Oh well.
Dieting. Something I think I should do. Just like exercise. But I don't. And I don't even come up with lame excuses - I just blatantly say I don't want to, despite knowing I should. Bleh.
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