Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Bad association spoils useful habits. That’s what my mom tried to always teach us when we were kids. She wanted the five of us to surround ourselves with people that we knew wouldn’t willingly try to lead us down paths we had no business going down. She understood that it’s hard to say no to doing things you know you shouldn’t when you’re outnumbered and feel out of place. That’s why it’s ironic that my mom tried to play such a significant role in my demise today.
Those of you who’ve spent any significant time reading Her Living Room Hero know I’ve tried numerous gimmicks to lose weight. I’ve attempted P90X (which is less of a gimmick and more of a crazy, intense workout if you’re up to the task…), wrapping my chest and gut with Saran Wrap while I work out (almost had to turn my Man Card in for this one…), eating more times during the day (seriously trying to figure the logic behind this…), eating less times during the day (actually doesn’t work as well as you’d think…), drinking chocolate milk three times a day (yes, this is an actual diet…), no carbs (boo…), more carbs (hooray!!!...), and so on and so on and so on.
But in the last two months, something’s changed. I’ve found a determination and focus and drive that I haven’t been able to find before. I’ve found within myself an understanding to do what I can rather than worry about what I can’t. With that, I’ve lost 33 pounds. For those who are bad at math like I am and have trouble visualizing calculations of the sort in your head, I’ve lost a petite preschooler. My goal? To lose a full-fledged kindergartner by May.
This time around I’ve done well at making time to exercise; I avoid eating things I shouldn’t eat. But with that, I allow myself to indulge in certain junk foods, to kill the craving before it kills me. Because of this, Santa’s job is safe as I’ve pretty much punted cookies from my diet. Hard to believe, I know. The separation of church and state between cookies and I hasn’t been an easy one, but we’re making progress. I don’t miss cookies nearly as much as they miss me, but I do miss them, as evident by my loss of will Sunday night when I ate an entire sleeve of Thin Mints in what I can only conclude was my body throwing a coup d’état. Those damn Girl Scouts. I seriously hope they make this year’s naughty list.
I was pretty bummed. I felt like all my hard work had been for nothing. Dramatic, I know. Coincidentally, the next day I received quite the random consolation as a friend who lives over 2,100 miles away admitted that she too had eaten a sleeve of Girl Scout Cookies the night before. It was like we were living parallel lives in a land of awesomeness. I told her that if our cycles synced up I was going to be pissed. She laughed. I was being serious.
As crappy as Sunday had turned out to be, Monday proved to be much better. I’d eaten right. I’d worked out, hard. I’d slept seven hours. I’d even watched like six episodes of Good Luck Charlie with Brady. All was right in the world. I’d forgotten about cookies. I'd forgotten that for a moment the day before I'd been human. I was awesome again.
But today being a newer day than yesterday, I get this:
It’s moments like this I think about hitting up Mark Zuckerberg and telling him there needs to be a “Time Out” function on Facebook, you know, for when you want to teach your friends a lesson that it’s not nice to post photos of Oreo Cookies on your wall so early in the morning, especially when you’d give anything to eat three or twelve of them for breakfast. Seriously. That’s like posting photos of Marc Anthony on JLo’s wall, or posting Baseball Hall of Fame updates on Barry Bonds’ wall, or tagging The Hamburglar in your check-ins at McDonald’s even though he’s not even there with you. But being the most awesome, most forgiving guy in the world, I chalked Susan’s moment of what seemed like “haha, suck it!” up to being a good friend who wouldn’t want Oreo’s biggest fan to miss out on celebrating 100 years of yummy goodness and I let it pass. And then my mom decided to chime in:
Rationalization tried to set in. A war between my two selves. I’d been a good boy these last two months. A really good boy. I wanted to go to the ball, but I had nothing to wear because my clothes don’t fit anymore, not like the used to…all snug and tight and huggy-like on my bottom. I decided at that moment I was going to have to miss the festivities, despite the best efforts of my mom and one of my closest friends to sabotage the shrinking confines of my body's mass. I was not going to be influenced by the thought of heaven in my mouth. I was above it all.
But as the day progressed, my willpower faded. How could I let the single greatest union ever known to man go uncelebrated? How could I, on this anniversary of all anniversaries, continue to pull a Chicago and look away every time I passed by that beautiful blue packaging in the grocery store the last two months? Oreos had been there for me when I needed them. They’re even still hanging around now that I don’t. They’ve been a good friend to my many a glass of cold, lonely milk. They’ve comforted me in times of good, bad, and in between. Mostly in between. How could I not, only for today, raise my glass just once more in honor of them? And if not in honor of them, in honour of them? I opted to throw them the best 100 year bash ever. Go big or go home. My only concern: what do you get the cookie that already has everything? More milk, of course.
Look at me. I'm such a bad host. I completely forget to make introductions. Mom, meet Susan. Susan, Mom. Hope you two enjoy Time Out, because I enjoyed my Oreos. All twelve of them. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s not really a party until somebody throws up…