No Bread, No Chocolate
I don't know how they get
in. Despite my efforts to safeguard the house, they find
a way to infiltrate. I never see them, but the evidence
of their habitation is irrefutable. They arrive every year
like clockwork, sometime between Thanksgiving and New Year.
I'm sure others have had similar break-ins; some realize
it sooner than later, while many never even know it happens.
Most times I notice the
first clue of their occupancy a day or two after the holidays.
Stepping onto my bathroom scale it becomes apparent that
someone has been fiddling with it. The reading is off at
least ten to fifteen poinds in the wrong direction. Panicked,
I immediately go to my closet and try on the pants that
I'm going to wear to work ony to find that they have been
altered to a smaller size without my knowledge or consent.
As I strain to button the waistband I curse these pointed
eared, elf-like intruders who obviously are well versed
in mechanics and tailoring. Gazing into my bedroom mirror
makes me painfully aware that they also practice plastic
surgery, as I can see they have started to sculpt me a second
Alright, I know it's not
true, but my kids like the story. What really happened is
that I have once again fallen off the holiday eating wagon
and I'm faced with yet another New Year's diet resolution.
Having tried everything from Atkins to Jenny Craig, I've
eaten all carbs, no carbs, low fat, high fat, all fruit,
all veggie, no veggie, all protien, and blah, blah, blah.
I've heard them all, tried them all and have had some success
for a short period of time, but by the end of December I'm
right back where I started. I really want this time to be
different, but I'm having trouble getting motivated. At
forty-seven, my one driving factor seems to be not wanting
my waist size to enter the same decade as my age.
Fortunately, I don't have
any one thing that forces me to act, I'm active, not obese,
but my latest checkups have detected a creeping blood pressure
that, while not a problem at this time, may be in the future.
When I asked the doctor what I could do, he of course instructed
me to drop a few pounds. So I find myself entering the post
holiday season in search of the perfect diet. Deciding to
look at it analytically, I have narrowed down my problem
to two food sources: bread and chocolate. I really like
good bread and I really love good chocolate. The thought
of giving them up is disturbing, but having tried just about
everything else, they are the culprits that I identified
to be sacrificed.
Sadly, the first few days
of 2003 have been less than successful. The afore-mentioned
contraband has crept back into my diet, or should I say
they have never really left. Finding myself in search of
something to induce me, I keep running motivational scenarios
over in my head. Having recently authored a book, I imagine
how I would appear on the back jacket cover. I pictured
a sleek physique in a black crew neck and leather sports
coat; unfortunately vanity has never been a trigger that
would entice me to give up eating. And with no devastating
health issues looming over me, I was at a loss for inspiration.
Then the other night it hit me, something meaningful I could
hitch my determination to and let it pull me to a successful
weight loss solution.
As I climbed the stairs
to bed, I cracked open the door where my youngest son was
sleeping. He is a red haired, blue-eyed bundle of joy in
my life. He is innocent and good and his dad is the centerpiece
of everything that is safe and stable. In his world I can
do no wrong and will be there forever to love and protect
him, but will I... that's what kept creeping into my mind.
I'm fortunate to still have both my parents in good health,
and that has always been a comfort. But he is only ten years
old and it is highly possible that when he reaches my age,
he will not be as lucky. So standing in a dark hallway facing
my mortality through the future of a child, I found my motivation.
As for anyone faced with similar
circumstances who is blessed enough to be looking through
a cracked bedroom door tonight, I'll see you at the gym
tomorrow or in the salad line at lunch. And by the way,
have a Happy New Year.