The hardest part about embarking on a diet/exercise plan is being patient enough to wait for results. I know that while I'm pumping away on a treadmill, trying not to notice that the people on both sides of me have been running at a sprinter's pace for at least the last half hour, I want to visually see fat melting off my gut. Granted, if that were to really happen, I'd probably be taken out of the gym on a stretcher, but those are the kind of results I want. Immediate and drastic. Unfortunately, patience is a virtue I fail to possess.
I want some instant gratification to replace that which I've forsaken. If I turn up my nose at chips and candy bars and Arby's, I should at least be granted the thrill of pants that don't cut me in half.
I don't remember how long it took to notice real results when I lost this mass a few years ago. I know that I started in mid-January, and by the time I went to the Bahamas the last weekend in February, I felt good enough to venture out in public in a string bikini. So I guess six weeks, at maximum effort, is long enough to obtain substantial changes.
But this is only week one. I don't know if I can wait another five.
Our office Xmas fete was last night, and I managed to make it through without smoking. I ate the shit out of a straw, though. And drank too much coffee (2 at the restaurant, 3 at the bar), which made me more than slightly nauseous after I got home. Ben and Bob made cookies with the dough I put together last weekend, and they were gorgeous. Just like my boys.
Tonight we're picking up Ben's oldest friend and his wife from the airport and having dinner at our favorite Indian place. They're spending tonight at our house and leaving early tomorrow morning for someplace south and west of here. That's probably a good thing because (1) I hate house guests and (2) all Ben and this dude ever talk about are sports, video games, sports and sports. And his wife is nice enough, but we have nothing really in common and I think she has ADHD because she never shuts up long enough for me to say anything. It's worth it, though, as my lovely housewife--I mean, husband--has spent most of the afternoon "cleaning" (he doesn't move things when he dusts, but whatever, as long as I'm not having to do it) and preparing the house for their visit while I slave away here. He's a real gem.
Fuck--and now I get the call that Bob has to leave early. I swear to God, he may be getting coal after all...
I want some instant gratification to replace that which I've forsaken. If I turn up my nose at chips and candy bars and Arby's, I should at least be granted the thrill of pants that don't cut me in half.
I don't remember how long it took to notice real results when I lost this mass a few years ago. I know that I started in mid-January, and by the time I went to the Bahamas the last weekend in February, I felt good enough to venture out in public in a string bikini. So I guess six weeks, at maximum effort, is long enough to obtain substantial changes.
But this is only week one. I don't know if I can wait another five.
Our office Xmas fete was last night, and I managed to make it through without smoking. I ate the shit out of a straw, though. And drank too much coffee (2 at the restaurant, 3 at the bar), which made me more than slightly nauseous after I got home. Ben and Bob made cookies with the dough I put together last weekend, and they were gorgeous. Just like my boys.
Tonight we're picking up Ben's oldest friend and his wife from the airport and having dinner at our favorite Indian place. They're spending tonight at our house and leaving early tomorrow morning for someplace south and west of here. That's probably a good thing because (1) I hate house guests and (2) all Ben and this dude ever talk about are sports, video games, sports and sports. And his wife is nice enough, but we have nothing really in common and I think she has ADHD because she never shuts up long enough for me to say anything. It's worth it, though, as my lovely housewife--I mean, husband--has spent most of the afternoon "cleaning" (he doesn't move things when he dusts, but whatever, as long as I'm not having to do it) and preparing the house for their visit while I slave away here. He's a real gem.
Fuck--and now I get the call that Bob has to leave early. I swear to God, he may be getting coal after all...
posted by Mitzi Green at 3:03 PM
3 Comments:
Men who clean and cook are worth all the trouble they cause! ALL.
Coal <--hahahahahaha!
hang in there...xmas is just a day away! earlier my husband was threatening (out of my daughter's earshot, mind you) that we line up all of her presents and say, 'look, these are your presents, only you don't get them.' ...this due to the level of 'fed up-ness'.
do they grow out of it?
or does it just morph into something different that has us asking just as often "why can't you just be good?"
although, i will say, that your stories make me thankful... ;)
merry Christmas!
We've been using the "it's not too late to call Santa and have your presents taken back to the North Pole" trick. I swear it's the combination of sugar, overstimulation, and being five. The Devil's Combo.
Good luck on the diet. I admire you for doing the smoking and diet at the same time, because for me the diet is hard enough!
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