The holiday season is always a dangerous time for yours truly.
I love dining on succulent turkey, cranberry sauce, and pie. And it’s such fun to try new cookie recipes concocted by friends and relatives. There are yummy temptations displayed on countertops, or lurking in refrigerators...
Truth is, I find it too easy to abandon caution during winter holidays and happily pig out on wonderful food.
But soon my jeans won’t slide on easily: blouse buttons will strain. I’ll ring in the New Year looking as puffy as the pastries I’ve pounced on.
It ‘s so incredibly frustrating. (Those annoying folks who can eat anything and never gain an ounce drive me nuts.)
My ever-vigilant fat cells are consummate experts at snaring and efficiently storing every stray calorie or carbohydrate I consume. My body is incredibly good at this. So, as I age, I require much less food to maintain my normal weight. Finally, some years ago, I realized that just one meal a day suited me fine. It’s obvious that I’m not wasting away. Once on a roll, I have no trouble keeping to this regimen.
When I was a teen, three hearty meals daily were important as I dashed around the vast University of Michigan campus. I could eat anything and remain slim. Today, decades later, I’ve cut my intake to a small fraction of what it normally was. Everything is snicker-snack- until the holiday season, when my personal battle of the bulge begins. By Christmas my clothes shrink alarmingly.
Uh-huh.
So every November I renew my resolve. I won’t fight depression in January because I’ve evolved into a blimp. When one is vertically challenged, aging, and not nearly as active, eating three meals a day (and snacks) is a recipe for disaster. A veterinarian friend pointed out that dogs fed more than once daily get fat. Hip joints, especially, are compromised. They’re much more prone to other ailments, too. And so it is with humans. Dragging around fifty-pound ‘sacks of potatoes’ 24/7 wreaks backs and knees, not to mention the heart and pancreas. Diabetes is rampant, due to obesity.
In 1996, overweight, uncomfortable, and needing reasonable guidelines, I had a revelation. A person’s waist measurement should not exceed his or her inseam length. It’s the only reference I use, and it works beautifully.
Over-eating will always be a difficult addiction for me to conquer. Each meal is named to make it important. Everyone I know looks shocked that I skip breakfast (vital for a healthy start, trumpet the ads) and don’t eat dinner. The pressure is constant. But if I give in, I get fat. Simple as that.
I won’t look pregnant when I’m not. I don’t want my cardiac pump and arterial lines to fail too soon. A few seconds of pleasure for my delighted taste buds, repeated too often, is simply not worth the consequences. Fact is, it’s just too easy to grow roots on my soles and exercise just my feeding arm and jaw muscles. I’ve also noticed with dismay that extra weight has become harder to shed with every passing year. Thankfully, the garden, and the work it entails, motivates me to Keep To The Plan.
This year I have no excuse. There’s no snow, and it’s not too cold. So I rake, walk, and generally maintain a distant friendship with kitchens. I do look forward to preparing and eating my one meal- anything I want, guilt-free. And, yeah, I confess to lapses; Lisa’s gluten-free cornbread topped with honey, and her custards, are so special. Sometimes, by golly, one dessert just isn’t enough.
Mainly, though, I’m in control.
Until the next temptation….
I love dining on succulent turkey, cranberry sauce, and pie. And it’s such fun to try new cookie recipes concocted by friends and relatives. There are yummy temptations displayed on countertops, or lurking in refrigerators...
Truth is, I find it too easy to abandon caution during winter holidays and happily pig out on wonderful food.
But soon my jeans won’t slide on easily: blouse buttons will strain. I’ll ring in the New Year looking as puffy as the pastries I’ve pounced on.
It ‘s so incredibly frustrating. (Those annoying folks who can eat anything and never gain an ounce drive me nuts.)
My ever-vigilant fat cells are consummate experts at snaring and efficiently storing every stray calorie or carbohydrate I consume. My body is incredibly good at this. So, as I age, I require much less food to maintain my normal weight. Finally, some years ago, I realized that just one meal a day suited me fine. It’s obvious that I’m not wasting away. Once on a roll, I have no trouble keeping to this regimen.
When I was a teen, three hearty meals daily were important as I dashed around the vast University of Michigan campus. I could eat anything and remain slim. Today, decades later, I’ve cut my intake to a small fraction of what it normally was. Everything is snicker-snack- until the holiday season, when my personal battle of the bulge begins. By Christmas my clothes shrink alarmingly.
Uh-huh.
So every November I renew my resolve. I won’t fight depression in January because I’ve evolved into a blimp. When one is vertically challenged, aging, and not nearly as active, eating three meals a day (and snacks) is a recipe for disaster. A veterinarian friend pointed out that dogs fed more than once daily get fat. Hip joints, especially, are compromised. They’re much more prone to other ailments, too. And so it is with humans. Dragging around fifty-pound ‘sacks of potatoes’ 24/7 wreaks backs and knees, not to mention the heart and pancreas. Diabetes is rampant, due to obesity.
In 1996, overweight, uncomfortable, and needing reasonable guidelines, I had a revelation. A person’s waist measurement should not exceed his or her inseam length. It’s the only reference I use, and it works beautifully.
Over-eating will always be a difficult addiction for me to conquer. Each meal is named to make it important. Everyone I know looks shocked that I skip breakfast (vital for a healthy start, trumpet the ads) and don’t eat dinner. The pressure is constant. But if I give in, I get fat. Simple as that.
I won’t look pregnant when I’m not. I don’t want my cardiac pump and arterial lines to fail too soon. A few seconds of pleasure for my delighted taste buds, repeated too often, is simply not worth the consequences. Fact is, it’s just too easy to grow roots on my soles and exercise just my feeding arm and jaw muscles. I’ve also noticed with dismay that extra weight has become harder to shed with every passing year. Thankfully, the garden, and the work it entails, motivates me to Keep To The Plan.
This year I have no excuse. There’s no snow, and it’s not too cold. So I rake, walk, and generally maintain a distant friendship with kitchens. I do look forward to preparing and eating my one meal- anything I want, guilt-free. And, yeah, I confess to lapses; Lisa’s gluten-free cornbread topped with honey, and her custards, are so special. Sometimes, by golly, one dessert just isn’t enough.
Mainly, though, I’m in control.
Until the next temptation….