Back in March, I went to Weight Watchers. I loaded up on all the reading materials and returned for a mere 2 weigh-ins. The seeds of weight Watchers wisdom were sown, and it went something like this: don't eat like a pig. Essentially, just when stuff starts tasting really good, call it quits. I started eating correct portions, and by July I had lost 10 pounds.
Here we are in December, and I'm still down by 8 pounds. I have moments of dementia when I suddenly recall that 3 beers do not constitute a dinner, but for the most part I measure/weigh everything I eat. Scot cannot believe this. "Can't you just step back from the plate when you've had enough?" he asks. (Scot weighs 145 pounds and has never been chubby.) No. I cannot. Food is love. Food is happiness. Give me more, give me more.
Last night, I committed a huge indiscretion. We went out for dinner with family and I had a Chicken Caesar Salad, 3 beers, 15 steak fries, and 5 hot wings. Stuffed, sad and sick, I left the restaurant and considered vomiting in a bush. But I would never do that. I had to live with the crappy choices I made.
Today, I ran. I'm training for the 1/2 marathon, so I ran 7 miles. I had a salad with chicken for lunch. And nixed plans to go out for fattening date night. Darn it, I will try to fly straight for a while.
My name is Toni, and I'm a Foodaholic.
1 comment:
My name is julie and i also am a food-addict. I sit before the screen bloated and full and i didn't even finish my stuffed pepper-I don't think anything called stuffed can result in anything less than that-my being stuffed! HELP
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