Living for the better isn't easy.
Lose weight, they say. All you have to do is eat right and exercise. And by "eating right" they mean eat three spinach leaves and a handful of something you hate a day, and by "exercise" they mean running a triathlon, build a house, and ignore the fact that your joints sound like bubble wrap. And only then you might lose weight. Phht.
And by "they" I mean anyone who gives advice on weight loss without ever having a weight problem in their lifetime.
I'm lucky if I can get up on the first lunge out of bed- most times I look like a walrus on it's back, limbs flailing helplessly as I try to make myself vertical. When I do manage this feat, gravity hits and I'm somewhere between Jabba the Hutt and a human puddle of flesh. I step on my own body parts as I make my way to the bathroom to depressurize and deflate.
I no longer look in the mirror- the last time I did, my hair looked like Don King and Einstein had a love child and my skin resembled a (nearly) hairless Shar-pei. Not entirely a motivating sight first thing in the morning. I really need to get a poster of Keira Knightly- I'd never have to worry about my looks or weight ever again. Or a cat. One that's smiling. Anything but the older chick with the wisdom highlights and crows feet so deep it looks like Big Bird hop-scotched across her face..
Getting dressed is fun too- I have to lower the bra further and further to scoop up the girls- pretty soon I'll be perky again- all I have to do is wait a few more years and I can roll those puppies up like socks and tuck them in. Then I'll be good to go. I'm not quite in wind-sock territory yet, but I have no qualms that that day is coming- probably sooner than I think.
There are also surprises sometimes when getting dressed- like finding my feet. I thought I lost them last week, but I found them again this morning! Of course when I stand up, I lose them again, but I have faith that I'll find them later. If I can't I'll ask my husband- he knows where everything is.
Stairs have become interesting. My knees crack when I go up or down, so if I do it right, I sound like a metronome. Sometimes I hum a tune in time to my knees- I wonder if I can hire myself out to traveling musicians- as long as they don't travel too far- a couple of blocks and I'm winded.
By this time, I've done more snap-crackle-popping than Rice Crispies-
and I haven't even had breakfast yet. If I listen to the experts,
breakfast will consist of a single bran flake, one raisin, and water.
I'm a rebel, so I usually have eggs with cheese and bacon- I add a
little tomato and spinach to the eggs to make the experts shut up.
Exercise after breakfast- what could I do? Forget jogging- not only would I get two black eyes from the momentum, but all that bouncing would probably make something rip off- and it's never anything you'd want ripped off. Besides, I'd have to jog outside, and all that joint-popping and skin-slapping would probably get me fined for breaking the city noise ordinances.
Luckily by body compensates for this and makes me run up and down the stairs to the bathroom and back every few minutes. I never have to leave the house. I am the StairMaster.
It's time to eat again. Lunch consists of some peas and a lettuce leaf. I shoot the peas at the groundhogs in my garden, then garnish the lettuce with a cheeseburger.
After lunch I'm tired, so I take a nap. Most times I don't intend to- I find out I needed one after I wake up at the desk- or the couch- or when reading a weight-loss book.
I've tried walking. This I can do rather well, if I have the right cheer to go along with my knees. It usually goes something like this:
Snap, crackle, pop,
never gonna stop
Til my snap goes crackle,
and my crackle goes POP!
By this time the POP is my hip, and I'm done walking for the day.
Dinner is supposed to be any kind of salad, so I make mine with french fries, pizza, and Italian sausage- not that crumbly kind they use at the pizza shops, but those whole links you get at the grocery store- them's good eatin'! Oh, and extra cheese and crumbled bacon on the fries and a little fresh parsley- that last topping makes it count as a green salad.
Yet for some reason, I don't lose any weight. Experts my big fanny. "They" don't know squat!
Living for the better isn't easy. But at least it's fun!
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