I’ve been too lax for too long.
Usually when I’ve wanted to shed poundage, I haven’t followed an organized diet necessarily. I just cut back, modify, and dial up the workouts.
But I’m getting older. The weight doesn’t come off as easily.
It was time to pull out the big guns: a dieting/fitness app.
This is big for me.
I’m not a appy person.
I’ve worked very hard to ignore, avoid, and shun that world thus far.
I’ve never played a single game of Angry Birds.
But desperate times call for desperate measures.
I surrendered to the techo gods that are verocioulsy taking over every aspect of life and uploaded “My Fitness Pal” onto my iphone.
For ten disciplined, dutiful, deprived days I accounted to MFP every step, pedal, or lift exerted and each morsel of food to cross my lips, which consisted of veggies, lean proteins, and a few whole grains.
No ice cream.
No baked goods.
No treats, period.
It’s been pure hell.
I made cookies for my family one day and snitched no dough and consumed nary a cookie crumb.
Then birthday weekend hit.
Two birthdays that ballooned into four days of partying with family and friends.
I tried to tap into the same super powers that got me through the cookie baking, but somewhere between a donut birthday breakfast, a Cafe Rio birthday lunch, a hibachi grill birthday dinner, a trip to Cold Stone, some homemade apple crisp, a pizza party, and an Oreo ice cream cake, I fell off the wagon and rolled into the Sugar Plum forest.
When I logged back into “My fitness Pal” this morning it gave me an app slap across the face.
Tough love, baby.
I pitifully climbed back on the wagon this morning and started the day with a breakfast of poached eggs and steamed spinach, and tonight I watched with renewed resolve as my family ate ice cream slathered with Magic Shell for FHE treats.
I cried as I watched them because I’m just sooooo appy.