Exercise: It’s not for breakfast anymore. Usually it is for brunch, sometimes dinner, because I put it off as long as possible. I know this is not healthy or productive, but I do it. If I am really determined, I will put on my exercise clothes and play mind games with myself until I lose. I can filibuster for hours (Congress ain’t got nothin’ on me), but the tight spandex shorts continually squeezing the life out of me remind me WHY I need to go. It’s like the Biggest Loser in my head, with a touch of the 5 stages of grieving. I can flash through all the stages like..like.. I don’t know what. Something really fast. Sometimes it happens when I am standing in the pantry looking for something to help me kill time, like potatoe chips or candy.
Denial: I look OK – even though I am down to one pair of pants and a MuMu dress, it’s all good. No one will see the muffin top that is overflowing this sweet sweet muffin. Everybody loves a muffin. If I don’t button the top button and hold my breath, I look gooooodddd!!! Bow Chicka Wow Wow. And besides, I just gave birth (15 years ago-shut up), who would expect me to be out there exercising already? These running shorts must just run small, they are a little pinchy. Although, I could just wear them all day and it would be OK. I think. Would you look at all those cans of tuna? Yeah, 5 cans of tuna is probably too much tuna, but you never know when you will need it – it is good for apocalyptic planning. Maybe, I don't know.
Anger: It’s all America’s fault. Really the universe’s fault – if I were born in Sweden, I would be thin and svelte. Damn America and Sweden. Damn them all. And then there’s my childhood and how it shaped my eating (yum, mashed potatoes and meatloaf). Why didn’t they feed me salad? Or Quinoa? (When did I buy that? What was I thinking?) Why did we have to eat meals at home? Homemade bread and jam? Why, Mom, why? Fricken shorts. Ooooo, I didn’t know we had mac n cheese.
Bargaining: There is pie in the fridge. The last piece of pie will give me energy to run faster because of the sugar. This will be the last piece of pie I will ever eat. If I can eat this piece, I will run everyday. I will run far, and I will run wide. And I will run hills. Well, not today…. but I will do it in a month. A month is reasonable, right? Then, I won’t run the risk of hurting myself by setting too high of goal. Pie for a hill in a month. Deal? Yes, thank you Bob; I will take what is behind refrigerator door #1. Screw the pantry, the fridge is where’s it’s at.
Depression: It’s no use. It’s nearly noon, and my toes are turning blue. (These shorts are really too tight.) I really need to clean out the silverware drawer of all those crumbs before the kids get home and notice. What kind of parent am I anyway? My kids are going to think I am a bad housekeeper – if they think about me at all. Why do they have to grow up? What is the meaning of life? Who left the empty box of fruit snacks in the pantry? I wish the dog would quit scratching at the door – I’m in the pantry for God’s sake, give me a break.
Hey look, I found the Halloween candy.
Acceptance: I don’t look OK, the shorts are tight because they are tight, I love mashed potatoes, Sweden would have been nice, I love bread and jam too, my kids are feral – they don’t even use silverware, let alone notice what’s in the bottom of the drawer. And they have grown up – thank you baby Jesus. Halloween candy is a little stale in August, but who’s looking at expiration dates??
Then, the very last stage:
Tough Love Honey Badger Style: Jillian and Bob don’t give a shit. Get yo lazy bum up and out of the house. You don’t belong on this show, or in a pantry. Muffin tops are for muffins, not for your American hips. Ugly criers never get what they want. The pantry is a small stuffy place full of food you bought but will never eat.
And off I go. Out of the pantry to get my running shoes.
Damn.
“No pleasure, no pain” as an inebriated friend of mine once said. (Not sure what that means, but it was funny at the time!)
Old tootsie rolls are good fuel.
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