Okay, it’s Monday and it’s time for me to come out….. I am a failure. A dismal one at that. Really. I try to hard to keep up appearances, and set goals and meet deadlines, but then there are days where I wind up a dismal failure. I blame my brain.
Now, truth is I really like my brain, most days it serves me very well, until the other day. There I was, walking into Mangos, the lunch place at the club where I hang out. I was prepared to order my regular: a healthy fulfilling Acai Bowl, filled with fruity goodness. But then I happened to walk past Mildred, the hostess who just happened to mention to one of the servers that the table at the back just ordered “A SIDE ORDER OF FRENCH FRIES.”
That was it. The spell had been cast. Banished were my thoughts of acai goodness. As soon as she came by with a nice glass of ice water for me, I found my mouth saying those words: “ooh, I’ll have a side order of french fries too.”
Gonfunit! (As we say here in the islands) What was I doing? I was here to have a light lunch before a WORKOUT. What the hell???
Now I could blame lots of things, the on-set of mento-pause, the weather, that Mildred was a she-demon in human disguise. I’m sure there’s some easy hormonal imbalance I could blame. But as I’m posting this in a blog for the world to read, I better just own up to it: I wanted to eat them, so I ordered them.
Now, if I were a SMART blogger, I’d say how they really weren’t all that good and I only ate a few, to show that I really am full of will power and wouldn’t let a pile of french fries do me in. But alas, no. I ate every single one of those suckers. And they were perfect. Fresh from the fryer, they were thin cut, with just enough salt. With that perfect crunch on the outside, then the soft, succulent, potatoey starchfest on the inside. Along with the ketchup, it was a french fry happy dance on my palate.
There are those who say if you really want to kick a habit, that you should really go for it, that if you lust after french fries, really eat the fries, enjoy every incandescent moment, and once you have totally given yourself over to them, your craving will die an ugly death. Sorry. Not buying it. I’m sure Dr. Oz has an explanation for all of this, something to do with Leptin and Ghrelin and I could care less. I’m a junkie.
But there is hope. I could have really gone over board and ordered a slice of chocolate cake and just wallowed in my self-loathing. But who has time for that? So, after a few moments to digest, I got my sorry butt down to the gym. I pulled on my too tight gym shorts, strapped on that heart rage monitor and got on the elliptical.
Now, the one saving grace in all of this that I do have the antidote for self-loathing. It is music. I also put my headphones on and cranked up my iPod. On it, I have a collection of music videos, mostly from the ’80’s and 90’s (hey, it’s my era) So, instead of watching what was on the gym’s T.V. Sets, I let The Police, Spandau Ballet, John Mellancamp, and other assorted artists, take my troubles away.
Actually, according to science, music helps to make dopamine, the feel good hormone, the true antidote to my french-fry-induced-funk. Another reason why I choose to watch music videos, is that it reminds me of all the artists involved in making those amazing little movies. All the focus, creativity, and ingenuity always revives me.
Now, if you use this post as an excuse to go order fries… I will not stop you. But hopefully, you’ll also get your butt to the gym. Here were my results for that day: I managed to work of 500 calories in 49 minutes.
You may wonder, why am I grateful for this? I put it in perspective: I’m grateful that I have the time to even get myself to the gym. The resources to pay the membership (well, let’s be honest and thank the hubster for that) Grateful that I have a set of 50 year-old knees that got me through the workout. A heart that managed to get up to 150 beats for a good five minutes during the workout. It’s easy to give up and indulge in self-loathing. But why? When there are so many other things you can focus on?
Okay, fess up, what are the things that send you off on a binge? On a tear? Cookies, ice cream, sex, candy? Go on, I fessed up, so I’m giving you permission to do the same. No, I will not judge you, but if you happen to be in my neighborhood, I’ll drag you to the gym with me. Thanks for stopping by.