No. I haven’t invented some amazing new pill that gobbles up fat before it makes a home on my arse.
And no, I haven’t discovered some top-secret exercise that I can do while watching television and eating ice-cream. I haven’t even filled my basement with motorized thighmasters that open and close at the speed of light.
I’ve finally figured out the secret to conquering this fatty demon once and for all – I had to fix my brain.
It was the husband who helped turn the light bulb on in my dark, pastry-filled brain. He’s a useful person to have around. We were discussing how crazy it is that your brain can play tricks on you. Mainly, we were talking about crack addiction (for those of you who are new here, the husband is an addictions counsellor, not an addict…) Jay was explaining how addicts will not look past the consequences of getting high. How all they want is that 2 minute fix. In those 2 minutes, they experience something like having 100 orgasms all at once. Some of them will spend the next several days chasing successions of two-minute highs, only to crash at the end, exhausted and sick. With each 2 minutes, addicts can begin to lose pieces of their lives – family, friends, jobs, their homes, etc.
And although I know eating is often not as destructive as something like a crack addiction, there are similarities. Yes, I’ve never lost my house for need of a brilliant cheesecake fix, but for every impulse bite that I took, I lost small pieces of myself – my self-esteem, my happiness, my energy, my overall health. And for what? For a few seconds of ecstasy (and not even moan-out-loud, toe-curling-ecstasy) – it hardly seems worth it.
I was also quite skilled at sabotaging attempts to do things that were good for me. Let’s consider exercise, shall we? Right now, I only run 30 minutes, four times per week. I’m not very good at math, so correct me if I’m wrong, but if there are 168 hours in a week and I spend 2 hours of them running, that is only 1% of my week. Seriously? I spent all this effort trying to avoid something that although it can be challenging for 1%, it gives me lasting benefits for the other 99% of my week? That makes zero sense.
Yes, I still treat myself. Once a week, I drink and eat what I want (within reason). But “treat” by definition is an occasional thing – not like I was “treating” myself before – every day, all day. I think it’s worth it, if only to keep myself on this path that I know will make me happier in the long run, even if I do wake up the next morning with a food hangover. But I used to walk around in a constant food hangover – depressed, exhausted, apathetic, fuzzy-headed.
It’s cheesy, but true – you are what you eat. I ate shit. I felt like shit.
So often the things we think will make us happy, make us miserable. Why? Is it because we aren’t REALLY thinking about it? From this point on, I’m going to use my brain (she must be whipped back into shape!) and actually make everything I eat and everything I do, a conscious decision.
I laugh in the face of cakey muffins. I scoff at the sight of chips. I can decide to never be fat again. And so it will be done.
Edited to add: I just found out about a contest that Magpie Musing is running to win a Wii Fit and am hoping (cross your fingers, people!) to get my hands on it with this post. You can enter the contest here. Or don’t. Because it’s MINE!
