Yes, I’ll admit that it has been a while since my last post about dieting and, in the time that has elapsed since then, my commitment to dieting has fallen by the wayside on more than one occasion. Somewhere in between now and then, while simultaneously having school kick me in the shins and adult responsibility spit in my eye (both on countless occasions), I came to one of the most crucial realizations of my young life: I like food!
Of course, health and happiness are still on my mind. A renewed relationship with Rodney Yee is just one of the ways I’ve decided to recommit myself to…myself, really. After all, in its best form, being health conscious is nothing more than a devoted relationship to yourself. When you love someone, you want only the very best for them. You want them to be unbelievably happy. You live to see their face lit by smiles and to have the air around them ring with their laughter.
So what exactly does this have to do with potatoes? Well, back during Fitness Regime Phase 1, I deprived myself of everything. No bread, no sugar, hardly any dairy, and potatoes? Banished from my kitchen. I don’t even know if I lost any weight, but frankly, I don’t think I cared. I had been forced away from the loving, starchy embrace of a food whose constant, comforting presence had woven its way so deeply into my life that, to lose it in one swoop was not only gastronomically devastating, but emotionally catastrophic.
Therefore, it should come as no surprise that someone so clearly unhappy with their diet should find it all too easy to eventually leave it by the wayside. So I slipped. I picked up my pizza, I downed my french fries, and I lovingly cuddled on a chocolate cupcake or two. But this time, I knew where to draw the line (although that took me a few months to do). The pizza faded to an occasional indulgence. The chocolate was soon reserved for holidays (or Spain’s World Cup win). But the potato? Oh, my old friend. How could I possibly turn my back on you?
The trick with anything in life is to know one’s limits. Back in high school, when pizza and soda were my daily lunch, I was a raucous rascal who wore her heart on her sleeve trying to squeeze fairy tale perfection out of everything. Needless to say, I wound up with extra pounds on my booty, extra cavities in my teeth, and fairly worn down after several angry phone calls to a young man whose biggest fault (in addition to many small ones, of course) was not being able to love me the way I thought I needed to be loved.
Now going into my second year of graduate school, my emotional outbursts are down to a minimum, and usually end in my current love (perfect, wonderful, gentle Nicholas) giving me patience in the face of my freak outs, prompting me to get over my tantrums of my own accord because I just can’t stand being mad at him. Sodas, for all their sugary wonder, have all but disappeared from my diet. But the food? Oh the food. It’s still there. But it has morphed into something around which solace can grow.
My roasted potatoes with onion and bell pepper now walk hand-in-hand with Rodney Yee and his Total Body Workout. And evening indulgence in gelato is preceded by a spinach salad with avocado and diced veggie patty, lovingly bathed in some of Paul Newman’s finest. Finding a happy middle ground is always tricky, but when it happens, the possibilities seem endless.
Pay no attention to the Coke in this girl's hand! She's from the '60s...she doesn't know any better.
So, as my night devolves into AMC’s “Mad Men” marathon, I find comfort in the fact that some things in life are just as they should be. I have a man who loves me (which every passing episode of “Mad Men” is making me appreciate all the more). My weight gain has halted and is now moving slowly but surely in the other direction. And I still have my sweetheart, my beloved seducer, my spud.
