I kept waiting for something momentous to happen the last two weeks so I could post about it but, there were no tears and no crises. (Okay, let’s be real. There were tears but not many and there were no weight-loss related ones. You try to hold it together when a three-legged dog hobbles by. Or you see a seeing-eye dog struggle to help his person around construction work. Or there’s a missing dog poster on a bus stop. Or there’s just a dog being extra cute. Just try to keep the tears from welling up!) So, I never got around to writing anything. Forgive me for leaving you, dear readers, with absolutely nothing on the internet to capture your attention.
Christian and I had the pleasure of spending this past weekend with our friends Benny and Sarina (you may remember her from my first 5K), their friend Heath and Sarina’s grandmother in the grandmother’s Michigan lake home. We boated, rode jet skis, talked and ate. I absolutely love weekends like this to excuse my terrible eating habits. I treat special weekend activities as a sort of all-you-can-eat buffet. While I don’t wish to spend my vacation time counting calories and obsessing over how every bite will affect me, I would like to reign it in.
At each meal and snack time, I attack whatever is before me like I’m in one of those TV gameshow booths where they blow $100 bills around and you have to gather up as many as possible before they shut the blowers off. I shovel greedily, as if I’m storing up food for the winter months to come. I want to eat it all. I leave the table feeling tight, swollen and utterly miserable. But at least I won in the imaginary Who Can Inhale the Most CheezIts Contest!
It occurred to me after one such meal this weekend (spicy feta dip with Wheat Thins as a snack, garlic butter shrimp and bread and chips, guacamole and salsa as an appetizer, a glass of wine, more bread with butter and a taco salad full of Doritos) that I’ve never left a party, a weekend trip or a restaurant thinking, “Gee, I sure wish I’d put away more food.” I’ve never lain (laid?) awake at night thinking, “If only I’d eaten more!!” And I’m willing to wager that my final thoughts as I drift off into eternal sleep (looking effortlessly beautiful with my Sleeping Beauty hair arranged just so on my death-bed pillow) will not be, “My life was full and rich and lovely but, I should’ve eaten more family sized bags of Ruffles with giant tubs of French Onion dip!”
So why do I do it? Why this compulsion to eat past the point of comfort? I don’t know. I was hoping you’d tell me. But it gives me something to think about when I reach for another scoop of casserole or another cookie. If only I can hear my own thoughts over the sound of the crunching.
Personal triumph update: this dress is a MP meaning Medium, Petite. Aka almost a small. Never mind that it’s probably ridiculous vanity sizing.
tl;dr hope there’s pie in heaven