The Denial is Not a River" Diet
Did you know that it is entirely possible to run a marathon in March, but by January be unable to sustain two miles at a non-embarassing pace?
Did you know that you can eat upwards of 6,000 calories in a day and pretend that you don't feel full or sick?
Are you aware that you can tell yourself lie after lie, like saying that you aren't weighing yourself because it messes with your head, when the truth is that you don't want to be held accountable for your actions?
AA says that alcoholics need to accept their issues in order to begin to fix a drinking problem, but what about when you are a food user? What about those of us who get relief from food, as opposed to those who eat solely for survival?
Tack on a lack of motivation to exercise; in my case very little running and a weekly trip to yoga, contributes to a body on the verge of total devastation.
Example of destructive behavior: Waking up early for Saturday morning yoga classes, but post savasana, rewarding oneself for a bendy job well done with visits to the hot bar at Whole Foods (their bacon is like fire works in the mouth in case you hadn't heard).
Once a week hot bar visits is sadly not the extent of my embarrassing behavior. For months I have treated my body like a New York City trash can (full of gunk, but let's squeeze in a little more, so that its top runneth over).
I've secretly hoarded sugar-laced cakes and cookies that I knew would give me a buzz. I've made special trips to the store for foods that are known triggers (Ghiradhelli chocolate chips, Kind Healthy Grains granola, sweetened Greek yogurt ) and feigned surprise when bags were empty, before I'd even driven back to into my driveway. Stress relief of the sweetest kind, is the pleasure a food junkie gets from jumping taste buds and a belly packed full.
I'd like to say that my awakening a few days ago happened because I truly care about my health, but I'd be telling you (and myself) another lie.
I care that I can't fit into a single pair of pants I own. I'm scared by the sight of my backside in stretchy pants. My boobs, much like the Grinch's heart, have grown three sizes (obviously boob growth took longer than the Grinch's Christmas day heart swell, it's just an analogy).
I don't feel like myself. I don't know who I feel like at all?
I can't say for certain that publishing this will change what I decide to do or eat and at what time I shall do it or eat it. I hope I can keep my eye on the fruit bowl (out of the pantry) and watch the numbers on the scale decrease. I want to fit into my clothes again and maybe by summer wear the red Malia Mills that is a tiny size 10 .
This is not about being fat. Or maybe it is.
It's about not being controlled by behaviors that hurt me. Or maybe it is.
Denial is not a river in Egypt.
Nor is it an option.
Where are you in regard to health, diet and fitness? Are you in denial or right on track?
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