You’d think the season when we bare more of ourselves than usual would be the season when we are more particular about what we put into our bodies, but I’ve never heard anyone say “I’ve got to put back on that 10 pounds I lost over the summer.”
Noooo, it’s more like we get out of the holiday mode and back to reality and start to think about that 10 pounds we put on over the summer.
Every year I say “do I really care?” and sometimes I don’t really, until I can’t get into something. Like the dress I wore to my niece’s wedding and my nephew’s wedding and my stepson’s sculpture unveiling and would very much like to wear to my second nephew’s wedding. I don’t care that they’ve all seen me in this dress at four different special family occasions. I like this dress. Those five or so pounds that crept up every year have all gotten together and I can’t do up the zipper of this dress.
Before I met Newman, 40 pounds melted off me when I gave up potatoes, white bread, white rice and pasta. There will be no melting this time; I have no delusions about having enough will power to give up potatoes with Newman in the house.
In fact I’d like to say it’s all his fault but even I haven’t got the face for that. I have the stomach for it (ha, ha) but then so does he. I would say that between us we’ve gained almost 50 pounds since we first looked at each other over a mound of mashed potatoes glistening with butter. The gleam in his eye that I thought was for me may just have been a reflection of the butter and that look of love on his face has been duplicated many times since, when he opens a pot on the stove to find it full of Yukon Golds, russets, reds, whatever ... he’ll go with any of them. A potato slut is what he is, at least I have my favourites.
I love my daughters and I know they love me but every now and then we joke about how much more I am worth to them dead than alive. -
Anyway, enough venting on poor Newman. It’s no more his fault that I’m getting porky than it is mine that he is. I am on my own. What I can’t control through eating I must try to influence through activity.
However, I fear there is such a thing as going overboard, especially when you can’t swim. My friend Andy and I had already decided this weekend to call each other every evening just to ask “did you walk today?”
Then I come home to an email from Daughter #2 asking me to join boot camp with her. She’s been going in the early morning for months and doing really well. They have a 5:30 p.m. special on for one month so I said I’d go. Daughter was “so proud of you mom.” Aaaw!
Then Janine called. When she stopped laughing she started telling me how hard boot camp was and I started to get a bit nervous. I thought I’d give the drill sergeant a call just to feel her out. Sure enough she told me that if I can find a tougher boot camp anywhere in St. John’s she’ll go there herself.
I love my daughters and I know they love me but every now and then we joke about how much more I am worth to them dead than alive. Nevertheless, I am going to this boot camp for one session.
Then the leader (booter?) will evaluate me and probably tell me I need a beginner’s class.
Or a rocking chair.
Stay tuned.
Readers can reach Janice Wells by email at jwellsoeo@hotmail.com.
