I’m on a mission to get a hot body by October.
We are going on a cruise, which means 98% of our trip will likely be spent in a bathing suit. This body of mine that has birthed three babies has exhausted itself it seems. Breastfeeding didn’t exactly melt the weight off like it had before, so I’m forced to actually try to diet and exercise on my own. Plus, turning 30 did me no favors in the metabolism department. Ugh.
First of all, I hate dieting. I have no self-control and my first love has always been carbs (sorry, family). But I know that 60-percent of getting a hot body is in the mouth…errr, kitchen? Whatever, metaphor about putting down the snickers bar. I have a pretty nasty diet coke and gummy bear habit, and also food is frickin’ delicious. My love language is basically pizza.
My friend told me about this diet that she had tried. It involved taking a supplement twice a day, almost drowning yourself in water, and eating at the same insane hours the elderly do. And honestly, my friend looks like she’s part fairy or vampire. I swear, like a Slovakian fashion model and Eric from True Blood had a baby and that baby was my friend. Skin glowing and zero fat, not the spare tire belly and blood-vessel streaked fat clumps that I have been sporting most of my life. And my fashion model fairy friend swore by it. So heck, I’ll try (most) anything once.
The first day wasn’t awful. One of the benefits of having to pee every dang minute was I finally got all of my steps in for the day from getting up to go to the bathroom so much. I felt surprisingly energetic and satisfied. The second day I did pretty well and didn’t have too many cravings. But the third day, my busy day at work with back-to-back clients, was terrible. I felt like crap that had been scraped off someone’s shoe. I had zero energy. Everything hurt. My head was throbbing and my stomach was not happy. It started growling a little, just enough to remind me that it was ready for sustenance. But I didn’t have time to sit down, much less eat lunch.
That was a mistake.
I had no idea that my stomach was prepping to command itself a damn sandwich.
I was sitting next to a client when I could feel the rumble starting…. quiet but yet, deep, low. I was going to push right through it though. Next thing I know there was the rolling gurgle sensation and then the loudest, most guttural noise I have ever heard before. Like some monster that needed to be beat back to death. It sounded like James Earl Jones had been hit with a lead pipe and fell into an empty well and he was calling out angrily, “FEED ME, BITCH!”
Nobody tells James Earl Jones no, and apparently, my belly either.
I guess you can understand why I have abandoned that diet strategy and I’m moving on to the next trend, which for my stomach’s sake hopefully will be diet cheeseburgers or something.