This past week, I've had some bad habits return (cigarettes, my sweet tooth, gorging on Mexican food...). And it has been so much fun. I loooooove carcinogen-laced rolls of tobacco. I would drink that Mexican cheese dip if you poured it over ice. Don't believe me? Ask my friends. And I believe that candy actually consists of 4 distinct groups, all of which should be added to the Food Pyramid: sour, chewy, chocolate and fruity.
In this past week, I have also managed to stop going to the gym (ok, not totally, but mostly). As a result, I have re-gained the four pounds I lost this month. So now, I have to start all over. [insert string of expletives here].
The worst part is, I have no one to blame but myself. It's enough to make me want a cigarette. Of course, that's t-o-t-a-l-l-y out of the question. No. More. Ciggies. Stop now, before you need oxygen tubes, VB. For real. Forever.
I have to get back on track. As of yesterday, I went back to healthy eating (and by healthy, I mean "no desserts"--it is important for me to keep my sanity, people. Limit a girl like me to nothing but salads and I'd end up either smoking to dull the pain or slitting my wrists).
Hmmm...I wonder if there is a connection between dieting and suicide...someone should do a study on that....where was I? Oh yeah.
Today will be gym workout #2 for the week. And I'm going to the "OMG, She's Trying to Kill Us" class. Go me. (I'm sure I'll regret this decision about 30 minutes in.)
Like the woman in the Lean Cuisine commercial, I am thinking to myself, "I wanna be on track!" Don't know what I mean? Watch it here...
Yeah, that's exactly how I feel today. I had similar feelings last night when I was at the gym. I saw her.
Not Anorexia Gym-Addict Girl. (Seriously, someone should talk to her mom!)
Not the Buff She-Man who can kick my ass if I were so stupid to presume I can speak to her directly.
Not Miss "Thank God I'm Not That Bad" (Oh shut up, you know you've thought that before, too, you catty little thing.)
Not the "Seriously, What Does This Woman Eat for Breakfast?" aerobics instructor. We all know aerobics instructors are robotic droids, not real actual people.
No, it was worse than that. Last night, I saw Little Miss "That Could Be Me". I live in fear of seeing these women. They serve as a reminder of my full potential. They are about my height and build. They aren't movie-star thin or freakishly muscular. They aren't necessarily cooler, smarter, richer or prettier than I. They are just a lot better at being "on track" when it comes to diet and exercise. They look really, really good. If I were a guy, I'd probably check them out. Or maybe even grab their ass and pretend like it was an accident.
And everytime I see them, I can feel the needles of envy, frustration, self-anguish and self-loathing. These little needles deflate my ego like an old balloon, leftover from a big party held a few nights before. My ego was already sort of sagging and limp, weakly floating on such optimistic cliches as "Rome wasn't built in a day!" and "Hard work always pays off!". My goals seem attainable, if I just work really, really, almost inhumanly hard. I can get back up there, up to the rafters where the happy, perky and taut balloons are. I know I can.
But along comes That Could Be Me and her obvious dedication and willpower send me hurtling to a sudden ego-death. Pffffffffffffffffffffffffffffft...........and all I see is Flabby Me, consumed by a lust for sugar and an aversion to exercise. Awaiting my inevitable fate: The Big Girl Sizes. All I can think is, "That could be me. If...." and then the "ifs" come in.
Kind of like that scene in Disney's Cinderella, where Cinderella's Evil Stepmom says she can go to the ball...."IF..." and then she tells Cinderella to complete a ridiculous list of chores, much to the dismay of the Evil Stepsisters, who protest this idea. "Mother, do you know what you just said?!" one of them cries incredulously.
"Of course. I said 'if' " says the Evil Stepmother, who then chuckles. Then the sisters realize what she means, and all the evil characters have a good laugh. Meanwhile, Cinderella is upstairs, doing her chores, thinking it could actually happen. A dream is a wish your heart makes and all that bulls--t.
That's exactly how it felt. And then I felt bad for even thinking like that, because this Could Be Me girl has probably worked really, really hard to get where she is. "Stop turning pea-green!" I think to myself. "She should be your goal. Learn from her. Remember that you, too, have the potential to look that good. Ask her what she does to look so good. Find out what diet she's on and what kinds of exercising she does. Stop comparing yourself to other girls and just try and be the best you can be. There's no reason you both can't look good. See how good you could look?"
Eventually, my own voice morphs into The Czarina's voice. And the Fat Girl Lecture begins. I like to refer to this as my "Inner Mom-o-logue". According to the US Post Office, my mom lives in Virginia, but they have no idea that she is just as alive and well, kicking and screaming, inside my head, which is currently located in South Carolina.
I wonder if That Could Be Me uses a little "Bibbety-Bobbity-Boo" magic, courtesy of her Fairy Godmother. Seriously, how does she do it? The only way I can look like that is if I live at the gym and eat nothing but salads and turkey. *sigh*
I think the lack of sugar, melted cheese and nicotine is affecting my brain. Does anyone else think like this? Or am I going bonkers?
Well, crazy or not, it's time to get back on track. Control is remembering what you want.
Argh. I've already annoyed myself with that stupid saying.
*raises arm, triumphantly* To the gym!
*dashes to car*