Ok, I didn’t quit. I have something akin to Brokeback Mountain syndrome when it comes to diets. “I wish I could quit you [insert utopian diet of choice this week].” But I refuse to quit. I’m no quitter. Quitting a diet means I’m giving up my fantasy of descending from a helicopter to my [insert important year] class reunion looking like Sofia Vergara, wearing a white dress and watching women push their dates’ bottom lips up from the floor. Oh no, to give that up would be to admit complete and utter defeat. Not an option. So I threaten to quit, but never do. (Note: I may or may not have that dress in the back of my closet. It looks awesome on my right thigh, because that’s all I can fit in it right now, but I’m keeping the dream alive.)
I’ve read a few books about how ironic it is that smart people have trouble losing weight. It’s counter-intuitive. You know all the right things to do, you know all of the socially acceptable ways to be, but for some reason, you just can’t stop making love to that vanilla frozen custard in the dark. It’s like a LITERAL “booty call” while I’m watching Scandal. The frozen dessert texts me and says, “Hey girl, I know you’re missing’ a lil’ something’ in your life, and I’m pretty sure it’s that empty pocket in your right derriere. Let me fill it for you.” And I often find myself texting back, “Yeah, sure. Liv doesn’t have to chose between the President and the mega hunk who are fighting over her, so why in the hell should I have to be a responsible adult?”
For those of you who are not overweight, congratulations! Either you have killer genes, or you’re doing an admirable job of modifying your rockstar lifestyle. Well done, you! For me, I have moments of glory, where I finish a bike ride or 5K and think, “So this is what those svelte female athletes mean when they proudly declare they crave water the way I crave Diet Coke! I will now immediately become the next after picture in every magazine I avoid at the supermarket and Ellen will invite me on her show and ask to dance with me to celebrate my phenomenal new body!” And the joy is intoxicating…for about 48 hours. Then all of my super lame habits creep into my world again and I’m back to being book smart and body stupid. (Please hold. I just got a new text from the custard. I wish I could quit him too.)
You know, one of those books I mentioned is called Change or Die. The cover is even modeled after a stop sign: completely blood red with the title in dumb block white text. But seriously – this is well documented research where doctors told obese and/or heart diseased patients they had to change their behavior or else they would soon DIE, and they still didn’t change! Yep – too much work. I think I’ll just go ahead and sit on the couch and DIE. My point is that inertia is a powerful thing, folks. It’s the yin to our “intoxicating water & dancing with Ellen” yang.
Now I get out there and do a moderate amount of activity and I grab fruit and veggies instead of carbs much of the time because (much to my chagrin) I actually am a responsible adult, but I can certainly do better and do it more often. While I ponder how to change this mysterious balance for the long term, I think I’ll go get some water. And by water, I mean Diet Coke.