I decided to forego carbs starting the day after Christmas, after eating at least a gallon of butter-smothered holiday chex mix for 72 hours prior. Actually, I decided I needed to lose about 15 pounds…what I had gained over the course of the past 6 months. Actually just complex carbs, because literally EVERYTHING has carbs in it. No joke. Yogurt has carbs. Beans have carbs. Peanut butter has carbs. And I ain’t givin up peanut butter and beans, people. Yogurt, you can go, but the beans and PB are staying.
This no-carb idea was just a way to “kick start” my little pow wow. I thought to myself, “surely, if I don’t eat bread, crackers, potatoes, or pasta for a week or two, I’ll drop at least five pounds.” That left me with salad, chicken, salad, tuna, salad, eggs, and maybe some salad minus the lettuce if I was feeling really crazy. I LITERALLY DID NOT PUT A [COMPLEX] CARB IN MY MOUTH FOR SIX DAYS STRAIGHT. That’s right, except for when my boyfriend made me breakfast, like the sweet man that he is, and there was toast. It’s okay. And then I got some kind of stomach bug/food poisoning and all I ate that day was crackers and peanut butter. Whoopsies. But seriously, you guys, like a week!
And I did lose a few pounds, but now I’m stuck at 7 pounds down…lots to go. Before I start these regular rantings, I feel it’s necessary to give a little background. Maybe a little, “I am … therefore I think” activity.
I am a woman…therefore, I think I’m fat.
I am in my twenties…therefore I think I’m broke.
I have friends…therefore, I think I have no time for exercise (some days).
I love food…therefore, I think I must always diet.
Ah, and there we have it. I have been dieting, to some extent, since high school. Since I was fourteen. That’s ten years. TEN YEARS I have been dieting, exercising, doing it all right. And have I ever been happy with my weight? Abso-freakin-lutely not. And I’m not fat, I’m well aware of that. I’ve never been “overweight” according to BMI charts, I’ve never been called fat (directly), but most days I look in the mirror and I’m not happy with what I see. I’ve come to the conclusion that every girl has a mindset somewhat related to mine, we are never happy. And even if, by some miracle, we are happy with our weight, there’s something else we find to be unhappy about, our hair, our nose, our toes, who knows. I also enjoy poetry.
The older I get, the more comical it is to me. I’ve become so insensitive to my own thoughts that my constant weight battle is slightly entertaining. Like a couple months ago I stepped on the scale, as I do every day, and the number had been increasing pretty steadily, and finally I thought to myself, “welp Allie, you’ve done it again. You’re fat and now you have to work off all that food you’ve been eating, and it’s gonna suck.” (Even though I JUST did that! Ten months ago, I was the most in-shape and happy with my body as I had been in years.) And I’ll stand in front of the mirror and poke my stomach out and make a fart noise with my mouth. Another day, another diet. One day of cheating equals one week of salads and gym trips.
OH, it is glorious to be a girl.
More to come.