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Sunday, Feb. 7, 2016
Satan's CandyPosted Thursday, June 4, 2009, at 2:21 PM
Here's a little ditty about weight loss. I'm a failure at it.
My first try at losing weight found me in the Wal-Mart parking lot with a box of fudge rounds and drinking a quart of milk as if I were late for my daily crack pipe addiction. I was in my first semester of college. I noticed how quickly I gained weight when I no longer had daily exercise from playing sports year round like I had in high school. My roommate and I had decided to enforce a work out regimen for the both of us. On top of that, we would watch what we ate. A month into our program, we went to Wal-Mart to buy more fruits and veggies. I passed the Hostess aisle, and suddenly my taste bud labeled "Fudge Round" took over. I must have blacked out, because the next thing I knew, I was in the car shredding those little cakes out of their individual packages and shoving one...two...three into my mouth before my roommate even had a chance to stop me. I told her to shut up and drive. I had a disease and the only cure was more chocolate. Then I politely asked her to pull into Taco Bell.
Now, I live at home again, and our cabinets stay fully stocked. One cabinet in particular houses all of the snack food. Snack food is my weakness. Snack food is Satan's candy. There are chocolate cupcakes in there that scream my name and throw tantrums until I open the cabinet and eat one. My rationale is absurd: I'm aware I cannot lose weight with food like that in the house. How do I fix it? Eat it all so I won't have to look at it. It's a vicious cycle.
Recently, I've decided to get serious about getting healthy. I've teamed up with one of my oldest friends to run in the morning and walk at night. Although I should be ready for the Olympics within the decade, there is the Debbie Downer part of me that really doesn't like working out. In fact, I loathe it. The second day of working out is probably the worst of all. The first day, I wake up excited and ready to find those abs of steel that must be hiding somewhere in my torso. I could run for hours on that first day. I'm ready to look like Nicole Richie, after all. The second day is when I wake up and realize I'm not as young as I used to be, my lungs are still trying to catch some breath for me and sore doesn't describe the tight balls of rubber bands that now reside within my legs. After the second day, I automatically know how much working out will hurt and suddenly I would rather wax the hair off my head using concrete than run anymore. As if running for exercise isn't enough, there are stray dogs that must have been trained terrorists in a past life. They chase us, bite at us and howl to other dogs that fresh meat is on the loose. Suddenly, we're running for our lives instead of a having a nice morning jog. Vehicles pose another threat. Sometimes I wonder if there is an actual person driving the truck who is careening toward us, or if it's just a possessed vehicle ready to kill. Morning jogs become a game of dodging, ducking, dipping and diving out of the way of unyielding motorists. When our morning run is over, I sit down to eat a hearty breakfast of cardboard cereal loaded with whole-grain yuck and fresh blah. It's a severe change from the Hot Fudge Sundae Pop-Tarts I would rather have. Sometimes I wonder if my parents aren't afraid they'll walk into the kitchen to find me sitting in the middle of the floor, rocking to and fro, double- fisting a cake and a donut. Even as I write this, Satan's kitchen cabinet filled with Satan's candy is yelling for me to take my pick and dig in. The angel in my conscience is telling me to cram an apple in my mouth and get over it. The devil is telling me it's not polite to let my mouth water in vain. In between chocolate binges and the aftermath of depression, I will continue to alternate running and walking. So, if you see me running in one of the local neighborhoods, feel free to toss me a piece of whole-grain, sugar free, protein-stocked, carbohydrate free, unsaturated, good-for-the-heart lettuce. And a Dr. Pepper while you're at it.
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Follow the events of a young, single female who just graduated college and is looking for the next chapter to begin. The Fabulous Chronicles of an Average Bombshell looks at what life is like for a young woman in her 20's, living in a small town, who has nothing in common with her friends: she's not interested in marriage, she wants a taste of the city life, and dating is for fun not so much for finding The One.