Thankful

Today is every dieter's nightmare: Thanksgiving. The kickoff to the gorge-fest of the holiday time. Cookies, cakes, pies, turkeys and hams and gift baskets galore, all tempting us to "go ahead, celebrate, enjoy the season!" You almost feel like Scrooge if you turn down your co-worker's gingerbread cookies. After all, they were a gift. And it's tough to do it. I don't like to be rude to folks, especially when they're just trying to give a kind gift. Here's my solution, if you can do it: Take the gift. Take it with you. But before you get to your home, throw it away. You don't have to tell anyone. Or better yet, if you want to pay it forward, take all those goodies over to your local soup kitchen, women's shelter, or nursing home.
Everyone loves cookies, and its hard to give them up. But here's something for a little comfort: You were given them. Someone cared for you enough to bake them for you. That's the real point of the gift, after all.

So even though I may not be any closer to my goal, I have people who care about me. That makes me pretty damn lucky after all.

Dirty Little Secrets

Most folks think because I am a chef, I must only want the finest foods. Foie gras, filets, truffles, all that stuff the celebrities on the food channels are raving like lunatics about. The fact is, I cannot stand foie gras. It's nasty. I have, and I mean this in the most sincere, but non-racist way, white-trash taste buds.
Honestly, yes, I've eaten in some of the finest restaurants that I can locate on a map, New York, Chicago, Charlotte, all the pretty restaurants with their world-renowned chefs. And what do I really want to eat? Burger King croissant sandwiches. Olive Garden breadsticks. Funnel cakes, hot dogs from street vendors, and plenty of other foods that are, if I read the nutrition labels, would probably cause me to bleed from the eyeballs. But it is what my palate wants. And now, if I want to be successful, I have to re-train my palate to love vegetables, salads, whole-grain breads, whole wheat pasta and brown rice. None of which make my taste buds dance.

So what is your dirty little food secret? Do you hide in your car and eat all the cookies for a meeting and tell people you forgot them? Do you eat a hotdog, wait till all your friends leave, and then go get a second one, so no one will think you're a pig? Come out of the closet with your culinary secrets! Order a salad on your date and then once you're home, eat the entire pint of ice cream?

I've done at least some, if not all, of those things. But here is the deepest secret...it is not eating these things that is the worst thing for us. It's hiding it. It's being ashamed of ourselves. It's eating our hearts out. I'm not saying that these are good food choices. They aren't. But I'm a grown-ass, independent woman and I say that I, and you, and you, should own our choices. All our choices. Even the lousy ones. Because when we stand on the scale, we know in our hearts, that we alone are responsible for that number.

So, when you're in the drive through, or at a state fair, ask yourself if it is worth it. If it is, then enjoy without shame. Eat what you want to eat. But own it. Or it will own you.

And I'm pretty sure no matter what I do, I'm still going to hate salads.

Failure to Strive

The road to Hell is paved with good intentions....
Which may explain why my gym bag has been riding shotgun in my car but neither it, not my ass, has made it to the actual gym before today. Today, I went. Got a short cardio/circuit workout in. Wasn't much, but was better than what I had, which was...wait for it...Nothing.
Seriously folks, I had a plan. I was going to carefully track my points, go to the gym, stay out of drive-thrus and all those good deeds. And yet, 5AM finds me eating Cracksandwiches, 230 PM finds me in meetings, or doing paperwork or having to go here or there or whatever. Anywhere but the gym. I want to do good, but I feel like my life gets in my way. So, how do I get out of my way? How do I keep from tripping over my own to-do list? The answer is...I don't know.
I don't, I really don't understand  how people do it. And I know they do. I know all these people in my Weight Watcher group, all these folks at the gym, they have lives, jobs, kids, etc. But they do what they are supposed to do anyway. Of course, they aren't in bed by 8PM. Which, if you rise at 430AM, is kind of mandatory.

I know what I'm supposed to do. I pack my gym bag, tell myself that I'm going to the gym, tell myself I'm going to eat something good for dinner. There just seems to be some disconnect between my brain and what I say to it. Or between my brain and my belly. Or something. Or perhaps it isn't a system malfunction, only a failure to do that which I know is good for me. I try, sort of . I kind of watch my portions. Basically, I half-ass it when things don't go the way I need them to. And that is no way to run an airline.

So this week, let's take the "try" out, let's go with "will."

"Do or do not. There is no "try"."  ---Yoda