Since the New Year started, I have seven categories of commitments. Written down, typed, in black and white. 3 tries on whether or not food has anything to do with one of them, and the first 2 don’t count. Of course, food, or sometimes the nastiest of all words, “diet” is at the top of the list. I have work goals, family goals, financial goals, fun goals, personal goals, but why-o-why is food at the top of the list? Because it’s fuel for our bodies, but it’s also love on a plate. Too much of it, can make your hips spread like warm butter. I’m focused on body fat or the lack thereof, so I’m pumping up the protein and reducing the carbs. Really strict for 2 weeks. Then if I survive, or more importantly I’m not jailed for killing anyone for lack of food, I’ll check my progress and adjust.
Two more pieces of bad news: The first of which is exercise is included in this food thing. I started my official goals this week. 3 times to the gym already. Even when my husband worked late on Wed (one of our planned gym trip nights), I loaded up the kids and headed there on my own. I ran on the elliptical for 20 minutes then worked on biceps and triceps. Today, I can’t fully extend my arms. I’m not sure I knew the elbow was a muscle. Evidently it is, because it hurts. The saddest thing is that I went into the “men’s” side of the gym, trying to act very cool. Totally had my game face on, and my pink OU hat (very intimidating). I’ll grab a dumbbell, sit on one of these benches facing the mirror and do some triceps, I thought to myself. It’s been since October since I was in the gym, but I’m sure I can still do the same weight. HA! What I used to do with one arm, about cracked my head open when I tried to lift it above my head. My arm wobbled side to side and I was sure the newspaper wouldn't be kind. Game face or no. So instead of admitting defeat, openly and slinking to the rack to reduce my weight, I just used two arms to do what should be done with one. Sad.
The worst news of all: I’m giving up liquor for 30 days. I think less for the carbs and more to see if I can make it through an actual work week without the obligatory glass of wine or low carb beer. I remember when I was gestational diabetic with my first child. I had to give up all sweets and eat 5 times a day from a strict menu given to me by a Nazi nutritionist. (I still hate her). My thought, shared verbally with many people during the rest of my pregnancy, was: “I already had to give up beer for this kid and now chocolate? They (not knowing the sex at the time) will be grounded until their 25.” Jade wishes she hadn’t done that to me to this day.