Recently, I had to finally admit to myself that I no longer have the svelte body of a 19-year-old. Mine is more of a 38-year-old married woman with three kids and a horrible problem with midnight snacking and red wine guzzling.
That tends to show on the hips after a while.
So, I did what smart women everywhere do. I went to Pinterest and started a board called “Lose 30 Pounds” then spent hours pinning insane workout regimens and extreme diets with loopy fonts and skinny thighs in the descriptive images.
I was really going to nail this losing weight thing.
I wiped off the Cheetos dust from my fingertips, wiped the ice cream off my chin, and went to Amazon to order stretchy bands and cute yoga pants in four matching colors.
But wait, I thought, what on earth is a workout without the right music? So off to Spotify to look up all the Beyonce songs and, of course, Eye of the Tiger for when I was really in the fat burning zone.
I chose a date on the calendar for when I’d start this epic journey into fitness where I will watch my fat cry and melt off my size 14 hips. Mondays are not good, Tuesdays seem weird to start a lifestyle so I skipped all of those. I looked at the beginning of the following month, hmm…too far away. I needed to punch this fatness in the face right now so I went with a Sunday. Seems fitting, maybe if I double up on the Crossfit cardio then I can release enough endorphins to trip my face off and see God. Who knows. Sunday it is, I told myself.
Sunday came. I woke up, ate two muffins, drank a pot of coffee, and then remembered that I was supposed to start a fucking diet. Dammnit.
Feeling like a failure I went back to square one: Pinterest.
While looking up words like “sugar detox” and “waif” I found something called “fasting for women” that included a “foolproof” schedule. What the hell, I figured. I can try that for one day.
The next day: fasting. I woke up and immediately looked at the clock, it had been roughly seven hours since I chucked the pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream in the garbage can and swore off my crappy habit in favor of being fit. But according to Pinterest, I was supposed to fast for at least 16 hours.
WTF. Who can go that long!?
I pulled up my britches and dug into this new plan. Hour ten passed and I was starving. Hour eleven passed and I started a new board on Pinterest called “Things to Make With Puff Pastry Dough”. Hour twelve…Jesus Christ, I’m gonna die, I thought.
Fasting is dumb.
Back to square one.
Pinterest says to start a diet off by measuring waistlines, stepping on a bathroom scale, and taking a “before” picture.
I find a cabbage soup recipe and promptly make my house smell like farts and rotting garbage cans. While cleaning up the kitchen, the elementary school calls and says my kid puked in the library. I go to pick him up.
Turns out to be Norovirus and everyone in my house gets it. Five people puking and shitting for nearly three days.
And voila! Just like magic, I lost two pounds.
And you can too.