I've tried to think of lots of painless ways to lose 20 pounds, but unfortunately it all comes back to lifestyle changes that mean I can't spend the afternoon with my hand in the candy jar. Ugh. Self-discipline, who needs it?
But, as I figure a half-hearted attempt is better than nothing, I went for a run this morning. For five minutes. Maybe it was two, I'm not sure - I was distracted by the urge to throw up all over my husband's shoes, which, fortunately for him, I couldn't reach because he'd outpaced me back when I told him I was going to die if I had to run another step.
That was right after I told him "I hate you so much right now" (he was the one who suggested the exercise) and "How did my heart get a knife?!" Then we both laughed until we remembered that our laughter was consuming valuable oxygen, which we might need if the paramedics took more than three minutes to get to us.
When we got home he said, "Are you discouraged?"
Hmmm... no. Discouragement implies that there is still an element of hope. Frankly, I feel like Jabba the Hut has a better chance of getting in shape than I do. But seeing as it is 1:51 PM and I have only consumed 330 calories for the day, I can still hold on to the hope that I won't be the fattest one at my family reunion this summer. I won't be the skinniest, either, but thankfully my motto for the year is "Aim Lower."
Besides, the goal is not to be skinny - it's to be healthy. But why does everything that is "healthy" taste like celery unless you add something fatty to it? I mean, seriously, green salad - wah wah. But green salad with (insert angelic chorus here) bacon and cheese and ranch dressing? Sign me up for that.
You go into these things thinking you should be eating lots of grains and that orange juice is actually healthy, and then you realize that half a piece of bread is like 50% of your calories for the day and if you drink so much as a teaspoon of OJ your blood sugar will spike so high that not even NASA will be able to find it.
Alas, this is what it means to be in your thirties. Instead of "pass the cookies" it's "pass on the cookies."
Suddenly I'm missing my teen years.