The Curve

I usually skim news headlines to see if anything sticks out to me; preferably something that might trigger a slight reaction. I just saw where a British salon taxes curvier women for a leg wax. This is becoming a topic as other industries (like the airline industry) are bouncing around the idea of charging fees based on weight. You know, because Honey Boo Boo’s family is the root of high airline fuel costs. And my thunder thighs are breaking the wax companies—wherever they reside.

It’s not that I fear a giant scale waiting for me at the end of a metal detector (Ok, that is absolutely terrifying), but it’s more of a reminder that I need to get back on track.

I was doing so well for over a month; I was plugging my food into my calorie counter; I was actually thinking about what I was stuffing into my mouth. I was chewing like a French lady instead of a Rottweiler with a piece of steak.

But then you just wake up one day and all those substitutions that were working just awesome aren’t so cool anymore. You realize this is your life—for the rest of your life—and you become momentarily discouraged. Here’s why:

1. Restaurant light menu options are depressing. Chicken sandwich—400 calories. Fine print: This does not include any condiments, cheese, or the two buns that MAKE IT A SANDWICH. This requires a broccoli substitution for seasoned fries. Also, it helps if you jump up and down while you eat the sandwich.

2. Magazine tips are stupid. I’m sorry, “Shape.” I’m just not going to do three sets of dips at my desk in front of my ENTIRE OFFICE. Nor will my boss appreciate me sounding like an out-of-breath hamster as I Tour-De-France it on my miniature stationary bike.

3. You’re always given a glimpse into your future. You’re sitting there starving—googling what a flax seed is—and someone says, “Oh, wait until you have a baby. You won’t even recognize your own body anymore.” Nothing makes you want to tighten those glutes like the mental image of your figure’s post-breastfeeding demise. And don’t forget the older ladies who radiate in the lives of women post-birth: “Gravity will kick in soon. Those sisters will be at your knees.”

4. Burning calories is so much harder than inhaling them. By the end of the day, I’m counting everything. Dishes- 10 calories. Kissed husband—7 calories. I ate a taco today—kiss him again. Froze my butt off taking the dog to the bathroom—shivering has got to count for SOMETHING.

5. You can only be positive about substitutions for so long. Catch me at the beginning of a lifestyle change and I will tell you that low-fat cool whip with sliced strawberries on top is the perfect filler for ice cream. Talk to me say…now…and I will breathe fire until you lay Bluebell’s Italian Cream Cake at my feet. And the next person that tells me almonds are a great movie snack will be pelted with buttery popcorn until they recant.

I don’t need any fan mail. I’m getting back with it. The holidays are going to get some leeway, but after that—it’s go time.

If you’re feeling discouraged, know that you’re not alone. If you want to hold up a Fiber One 90-calorie pack and scream, “YOU’RE NOT A BROWNIE!”—you’re definitely not alone. If you want to grab an expensive boutique blouse and Hulk-rip it over your body to prove that it’s not a true large, bring some granola and let’s go green.