It worked! Writing in my diary really worked. I protected myself by thinking ahead. I turned my good intentions into a commitment by writing them down. I was able to stay in control. I’d lost fifty pounds and earned the right to eat any fruit I wanted. The fruit cup was manna from heaven. I gave the rolls, the rice, and the dessert to Allen. I am feeling so dedicated. So magnifique! I felt smug sitting there, almost cute.
Then I excused myself to use the rest room. Oh, curse you, full-length mirrors! You cruelest of all man’s inventions. How dare you tell me the truth about my fat and insist on honestly displaying my 200-pound body for all the world to see? You dirty, rotten, nasty full-length mirrors. Needless to say, I was a little less than smug when I walked back into the banquet hall.
Yesterday, I exercised. There’s a bit of a miracle in exercising, even when you’re fat. It’s invigorating and motivating. It helps me keep my diet in mind, and crazily enough, it enables me to feel my weight loss. When I put my hands on my hips and lean sideways, I feel where the rolls used to be. When I sit and stretch forward to touch my toes, I can tell I’m stretching farther, easier. A little credit goes to the fact that my body is limbering up. But mostly, I can bend farther because there is less lard around my middle; some of the “shortening cans” are no longer hanging around my waist. I can see and feel the difference. Although I continue to find it horrible to face each new exercise session, when I am through with the ordeal, I feel invigorated and proud of myself for following through with something!