Me and food: A love / hate relationship
This past year has been a fairly grief-filled one for myself and my family. Heart attacks, cancer, loss, and a horrific incident that led to my 16-year-old cousin staying in the hospital for over five months and currently re-learning to walk and talk.
Needless to say, I’ve needed comfort and that comfort has come in the form of various pastries, pizzas and pies. Like that whole pecan one I ate this weekend. Yes, I ate the whole thing. Shockingly enough, I haven’t put on that much weight. But I have put on just enough that I’ve noticed it, though few else have (in fairness, I highly doubt my friends and family would mention it, and my boyfriend is under penalty of death to say anything less than spectacularly complimentary about my form).
In addition to constant food consumption, grief also makes me tired, which means my thrice weekly workouts have dwindled to none, making my Fit Club dues a mere $50 monthly fat tax. It’s a vicious cycle; when I workout, it makes me happy, but as soon as I lose motivation, I’m too tired and bummed out to do it.
My early New Year’s Resolution: to not need a New Year’s Resolution, because I’ll be back to my formerly fit self and no longer dwell in the realm of self-pity. Back to Pilates I go.
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