Yo-yo-yo dieter. That's me - it's a yo-yo dieter, only cooler. I got to a point in my life where I weighed... let's say a LOT of pounds and I am a vertically challenged 5'3". Although this began about three years ago, recently I re-steeled myself to see the end of this loooooong process of losing all the depression weight, and it's coming! It's really coming! But. I always hated gym rats - now I think I might classify myself as one. My personal trainer had to admonish me to stop measuring my bananas. I don't see food, I see figures: calories, fat and fiber, which translates into points, and here I am, math-hater than I am (actually it's math that hates me, but that's a whole other story) and I CAN'T. STOP. THE. MADNESS.
I think it's been done in movies time and time again, where the voluptuous frat girl pokes her fork at a dressing-less salad and glares daggers across the table at her jock boyfriend who's lustily enjoying his burger with fries and a shake. I've become that girl! Only minus the frat.
I've also become one of those intolerable people who's always looking at everything else everyone else in the world eats - OH go grocery shopping with me and let's look at that conveyor belt! What do your groceries say about you? And I judge! Granted, I judge silently, and it's usually a VERY witty commentary, but still. My poor boyfriend bears the brunt of my not-so-much-inner-dialogue if he (GASP) buys candy corn or (NOOOO!) eats a maple bar when I'm anywhere in a five-mile radius then its WOE TO HIM! And I have to stop. I don't go out with friends sometimes because I'm too intimated by what I might be feeling like and questioning my own willpower. It IS getting easier, but boy, what a battle. And it's a battlefield of one. So, long story short, I've got lots to work on. It does make it easier to work on while wearing my skinny jeans though.
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