Any dieter will tell you there are good days and bad days when watching one’s waistline. There are tricks of the trade to ‘tip the scales’ in your favour when said bad days occur. You take off all your jewellery for instance, and any denim wear is a definate no no. The immediate solution, you may say, is to keep the earring and maybe spend a little bit more time in the gym rather than in the bakery isle, but then, why did God invent chocolate?
Once a week, we dieters suck it up (or in) jewelless and linen clad, and head off to our meeting to face the dreaded scales. For most, there is a feeling of elation as we step down and are told that we are lighter than we were 7 days before. But there are times when our diet has not quite gone according to plan and we must endure the agonising ‘have we had a bit of a bad week?’ talk from our class leader. This was quite a common occurance for me during my diet period.
The truth is, I am a terrible dieter. I love food and food loves me, so really, it’s only half my fault. The problem with being in a relationship with food is that the upward struggle doesn’t stop at the dieting. How and what you eat after you are happy with your image is equally, if not more important in order to maintain that image. And I’m crap at it.
But change I must, and so, I have decided to confess my sins, and purge myself of the biscuit crumbs of binges past that still haunt me. Happy reading!