Something interesting happened today. And it's something that is perpetually taught at Weight Watchers. It's this idea of food cravings being linked to emotion. Eating when happy, sad, mellow, depressed, anxious, breathing, etc. And even though cognitively, I know this is a trap of taking in useless calories, I can never seem to identify that it is actually happening to me when, in fact, I am inhaling 3 oreo cookies in one breath to sooth the sudden change or over stimulation of emotion, until I've swallowed the very last of my penance.
And just as reliable as the celibate method of birth control, this afternoon, I fell for said trap. And it happened like this: during a back and forth email conversation I was having with a colleague of mine, a gentleman that I find rather delightful, I instantly went for a Weight Watchers Lemon Mousse bar. Why? I was giddy and anxious. Giddy because he's adorable and straight (two very rare characteristics of Publishing testeroners). Anxious because the emails were very straightforward and business like, and I couldn't tell if in between the lines of scheduling this very important meeting about Layout Design, he was in fact, trying to tell me he fancied my adorableness.
And before I knew it, I had inhaled four bars. FOUR!! I think even at one point, I had masticated two at a time; an orgy of processed sugar, faux lemon flavor, and frosting probably made up of splendor and nitrogen. I was a 2-point bar whore!! And all because of a guy.
Guys. Don't get me wrong, I think they are swell as friends, colleagues, family members, and as the bouncer at any night life establishment. But they play a very important role in my weight gain, beginning with my hot-foot father (who couldn't stand still in my life for more than 2 seconds), continuing with the predator family friend that forever changed my life at 12 years old, all the way through the two loves of my life. The very last one being a catalyst into the world of obesity (according to the BMI index).
I made a decision after the demise of said relationship that I wanted to be healthy. And healthy I became! I made lifestyle changes, ate completely differently, and started exercising 5 times a week. I had even mastered eating ONLY when I was hungry and would go for a run if I needed to blow some steam. I also avoided dating like the biblical plagues of Moses' time and considered guys the metaphoric spoon (that would eventually lead to an actual spoon) used to indulge in a Ben and Jerry's gallon of Chunky Monkey that had, at one point, imperialized my freezer.
As time went by, though, I decided to bring down my walls just a little, and embrace the art of teasing, flirting, and maybe dating. I've enjoyed this time of being on my own, and of being entertained by the opposite sex. I also hadn't really had a crush on someone until early this year.
And with said crush came an undo of lifestyle happiness. Just like that. Suddenly, I started slipping with my eating habits. So couple that with my inability to work out, it's a freakin miracle I did not put all of the 60 pounds back on.
Conundrum of the hour: can I have flat abs (which AJ SWEARS is possible without surgery or a really good girdle) AND fancy a boy? Or should I aim for being physical healthy and just embrace that I will be the hot crazy single cat lady who talks to herself on the R train?
Honestly, I haven't decided. To have flat abs means I can get dressed in the morning with the greatest of ease. It also means I can wear a two piece and embrace the sun light (and potentially cancerous UV rays) on my abdomen. It also means that I will be full of endorphins, and, according to the great Elle Woods, "Endorphins make you happy!"
But, then there is love. Deeply embedded, passion overflowing, anger inducing, butterfly multiplication, zanax-worthy, giddiness sturdy, soothingly satisfying w/ a side of 'scared shitless' esctasy" love.
Sigh. And uh-oh. There it is again. The trap. I just started salivating and craving a snickers bar. No worries, though! I don't have that stuff at home. However, Pavlov's dog has nothing on me.
Stay tuned. . .