Last January I did something I never thought I’d do- I quit eating sweets. Some of you know all too well about my battle with the white devil. No, not the white snorty stuff. That would be much more fun than sugar, trust me. Well, right up until I ended up facedown in a pile of blow like Al Pacino in Scarface and then my family intervened on my ass and dragged me to rehab.
The last few years my sugar intake escalated to the point of becoming ridiculous. I don’t even want to embarrass myself by telling you just how much sugar I was consuming but know this- it wasn’t healthy. Period. I was eating in one day what might last for a week in a “normal” person’s house.
I decided this year to stop. And I did. On January 4th my mom and I tore the ass out of some Elvis Bites from Muzzies. If you haven’t had an Elvis bite, you haven’t lived. Frozen bananas sliced into little disks, peanut butter slathered between two disks, rolled in chocolate, then in peanuts, and then frozen. They’re so good they’ll make you slap yo mama.
On January 5th I just…. stopped. Like a switch in my head just flipped and after the first few days it got much easier. I didn’t cut out sugar entirely- life without a coke slurpee from 7-Eleven? Not worth living some days.
And I did well for a long time. But then I started drinking those frozen coffee drinks… and more sugar crept back in. And then it turned to those mocha frappe things. How was I supposed to know those things had as much sugar as a damn milkshake?!
Eventually it became part of my daily life again. Except this time I hid it from everyone because I was ashamed of the fact that I’d fallen back into my old habits. Well, that’s not quite true… my old habits would have had me face down ass up in a pile of ice cream. I’m not THAT bad now…. but it’s coming.
So I’ve been eating sugar again for the last few weeks. Not as much as I used to but a lot more than I was before, and more than I want to be eating.
And now I have to stop again. I have to stop because I hate the guilt I feel, I hate the way I feel after eating sugar, I hate furtively sneaking sweets when nobody is looking, and I hate seeing the numbers creep higher on the scale.
I’m no spring chicken. I need to get serious about my body. I don’t have the luxury of “worrying about it tomorrow.” I can’t do to my body now what I could easily do to it in my 20s and 30s. This is the only body I’m ever going to have. I can’t keep punishing it with excess.
Tomorrow I start over. Again. But this time I think I need to make the rules a little stricter, because it’s a slippery slope for me. It’s black and white- I either don’t eat it or I descend into sugary, gooy madness. And that’s not an acceptable option for me anymore.
So…. wish me luck.