Week Eight: Million dollar question
Luncheon dates. Dinner invitations. Al fresco dining. What's a woman on a restricted diet to do? It seems as though everyone I know has invited me to one of the above this week, and given my penchant to work, work, work with far too little time to play, the last thing I want to do is pass. (And it's not as if my friends and family would let me off the hook anyway.) So I go out, and I eat—sensibly. I keep my portions small and I stick to the grilled foods and I hope that this will make a difference. Frozen fruit pops are my friends in the evenings. When choosing restaurants, I pick ones I know have healthy eating sections on their menus, and I do okay there too, I think. For a Gemini like me, whose life approach has always been "laissez les bon temps rouler!" ("let the good times roll!"), these types of restrictions aren't easy adaptations. But it's that approach to life that has gotten me to the plus-size state that I'm in, right? Everything in moderation, I keep telling myself—and myself is starting to listen.
I end the week exhausted. Between there never being enough time in the day, the deadline pressure at work, and the merciless workouts at the hands of Tehera, I find myself completely pooped by the weekend. But I continue to push myself to be social, accepting a Sunday barbecue invitation. To ensure there will be something sensible there to eat, I bring two vats of fruit salad. If I've got to go down with the stick-to-your-nutrition-plan ship, I'm making sure I take others with me.