I’ve never been very good at making sacrifices.
Sacrifice goes along with that other Achilles’ heel of mine, impulse control. There are times, though, when it becomes necessary. I’m not talking about cutting back in times of war or famine—oh, no. In my humble opinion, it’s not really sacrifice if you’re giving something up involuntarily. I’m talking about self-imposed discipline, necessitated, in this particular case, both by a winter primarily spent on laziness and comfort food and by a monsoon-season spring that further encouraged said slothful behavior.
The result (and my point) being: I no longer fit into my favorite pair of jeans, and I can’t seem to keep up on the soccer field.
Understatement: Cutting back on my food intake and refraining from giving into every craving I have does not come naturally. Trial and many, many errors have shown that I need to set strict parameters for myself if I want to be at all successful in weight-loss ventures; otherwise, I’m way too susceptible to derailment. I finally sucked it up and started eating healthier last week, and so far, at least, I’m not bored out of my mind or feeling completely deprived or tortured. (Well, maybe just a tiny bit deprived.)
I refuse to call this dieting, though. I’ve been eating breakfast at home every morning (“they” say that breakfast is key), packing my lunch, exercising, and removing temptation by—gasp!—avoiding restaurants, spending less time reading food blogs and magazines, and cooking minimalist meals. Nothing that’s been worth photographing yet, hence the lack of recent posts on my part. I do, however, have a couple of tasty-looking (and parameter-approved!) recipes on deck for this weekend; I’ll let you know if they wind up being anything worth sharing.
So, that’s the story. Wish me luck…in this department, I need all the help I can get.