Progressing at a Snail's Pace

Days like today make me realize how very easy it is to just give up.

I barely managed to slog through Gilad's Abdominal Workout. Felt slow and tired all day long, latent headache, and I even fell asleep during Dora, of all things. I mean, you know it's bad when you can fall asleep through her annoying, "Say it again! LOUDERRRR!"

Progress comes so slowly. We put on weight over months, even years, and then expect it to come off as soon as we do one workout. Reminds me of that commercial, where a guy weighs himself, runs around the gym once, then gets back on the scale, with a very eager and hopeful expression on his face.

The "diet" industry rakes in millions, selling one magic method after another, hope in a box, bottle, or book. There always seems to be a diet du jour, or a food villain du jour, only for things to do a 180 months or years later. Fat is evil. No, carbs are evil. White foods are evil. No, red meat is evil! Don't eat potatoes. No, actually, potatoes are good for you. Butter is bad for you! Wait, margarine is worse -- it has trans fat!

Bah. What I read somewhere, (finally something that makes sense!) is to eat a portion the size of your fist, because that is the size of your stomach.

And speaking of food, I have noticed something I had no idea I do: every time things get a little stressful, I go and open the cupboard, where the cookies and chocolate reside, bright, shiny, gorgeous packaging beckoning, seeming to say, "Eat meeee! Eat meeeee!" If Stefan cries, or Boomer refuses to let me dress him, laughing and gleefully running around me in circles as I stand there like a moron, underpants, 2T shirt and pants in hand, there I go, on autopilot, to The Cabinet. The chocolates and cookies do add up. I really need to watch that. Have a glass of water instead.

The problem is, eating calms me. Especially eating treats. Even now, as I type, I'm getting warm, fuzzy vibes thinking of coffee ice cream, with almonds and fudge and whipped cream.
I have all of the above downstairs in the kitchen.
Good thing I'm too wiped out to go get it.

I'll have that sundae tomorrow, but only after I rip it up in the basement.