Living Large

Everyone has a tipping point. Or an epiphany. Or a last straw. Mine came this week.

It's no secret that I enjoy food. I love the flavors, the textures, the simple joy of eating to my heart's content. But now, my heart is fighting back.

So are my pants. That's what happens when you go clothes shopping, and you stand in the dressing room with the 3-way mirror and the bright lights and there is NOWHERE to hide. Sure, you can try to avert your eyes, but there you are, spilling out all over the place. And the size you thought you were is too tight, and you look like a tube of toothpaste that's just burst its seams.

Not a pretty moment. That was last Sunday.

Monday morning, I got on the scale and reeled. Talk about being in a state of denial, I'd taken up permanent residence. I could not believe how big that digital number was. And I knew it was accurate. So, down to the bowels of the basement I went to work out.

Also, I began to write down everything I ate. And I pledged to my husband that I would not stray. Monday morning, someone brought in chocolate chip cookies. A birthday was celebrated with miniature cupcakes. Later in the week, there were muffins and pastries. I averted my eyes, held my breath and imagined how disappointed Mr. would be in me if I succumbed. And I remained steadfast.

I know I can shed the pounds. I've done it before. I need to be careful about every morsel I put in my mouth, and workouts every day are a must.

Can I do it? Yes, I can.

But please, don't offer me a donut. Especially a gooey Boston cream or a yummy glazed or one slathered with chocolate frosting.

What I meant to say was, donuts are bad for me. They don't taste good at all. I love broccoli.

Yes, I do!