Pre-Diet Preparations

I'm the queen of starting a blog, writing one entry, and forgetting about it. But now I'm committed, for 5 weeks at least. At the request of friends and fitness colleagues, I am blogging about my quest for a "figure" body-- less buff than "bodybuilder", more toned & defined than "bikini". I am already fit and active (I teach yoga, Pilates, Zumba (R), Cycle, etc. as well as run), but lately I have been using my fitness as a license to eat whatever I want. In no way does that mean I eat terribly; I'm a hundred times better than the average American, but that isn't saying much.

The main problem: I like me some cookies. Preferably with chocolate. I am a closet Cookie Monster (only I actually intake all the crumbs). I like ice cream. Smooth, creamy, slow-churned (but 1/2 the fat) mint chocolate cookie or peanut butter cup. I go weak in the knees when I walk through the Macey's bakery. But I blame the grocery store managers completely. They cleverly put those piles of cookies and brownies right at the entrance of the store, where the heater vents propel the wafts of baked goods directly into one's nostrils and invariably tug us toward the bakery dept even if all we needed was milk.

I'm also a victim of the Depression era. Anyone else raised to scrape their plates clean by parents whose parents whose parents survived the Depression via not wasting a single morsel of food? It's bad. When I'm dishing my daughter's uneaten soggy cereal or clumpy mac and cheese into my mouth, I wonder with disgust, and yes, some awe, why I can't just throw it away.

So after facing my bad habits head on, I've decided enough's enough. I have to stop listening to the voice inside my head that says, "Lots of overweight women would kill to have your body. So go ahead, eat a few more dark chocolate covered pomegranates. You're fine." It may be so. But it's complacency. It's mediocrity. It's not my best me, and I can feel it.