I want to look like this:
Every now and then I’ll try to achieve that goal, generally when I see a weight loss advertisement on Facebook with some flexible, smooth skinned git who is way too effervescent for their own good. Nevertheless I can’t help but get motivated by the impossible dream and I wind up signing up to an on-line exercise program which promises me that after 21 days of doing 20 minutes of daily exercise I will look like a supermodel.
The very important piece of information that they don’t tell you until you’ve handed over your cash is that you need to eat dust until the end of time. Well, ok, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration but I cannot commit to just eating broccoli and nothing else until I die. Unless it’s fried and put on a pizza maybe.
Nevertheless, I always make the commitment and start off really well. The inside of my fridge looks like a greengrocers and I tell myself that it’s just as easy to squeeze lemon juice into a glass of water than high sugar squash.
If I prepare well, I can make healthy lunches in the morning to take to work instead of eating a shop bought high calorie sandwich; and if I get up half an hour earlier I can crowbar my exercise in too. At least I know myself well enough to realise that I wont bother to do it when I get home. Ooooh, and if I get up another half an hour earlier I can have delicious banana pancakes with blueberries and a drizzle of honey for breakfast. I can rock this.
The first few days are stonking. I’m getting up in the dark, doing my exercises, eating salad and bragging to everyone in the office about it. I’m weighing myself daily and I’ve even lost a couple of pounds. I am a pariah.
Then as always, disaster strikes.
It strikes in one of four ways:
a) I get tired
b) I run out of time
c) I pull a muscle
d) I figure I’ve lost some weight so I can afford a total binge on wine, pizza (without broccoli) and chocolate.
And then it’s all over.
I shouldn’t really be surprised as I should have learned by now that I’m not a morning person, salad is unbelievably dull, my back doesn’t particularly like it when I do star jumps, and both my age and gravity are fighting against me.
To compensate I tell myself that it’s ok, and what I really need is a life of moderation. I’m never going to be able to maintain a strict regime like the one I’ve just paid for because it just isn’t realistic so I may as well just enjoy life.
Meanwhile, my payment to the fitness company comes out of my account, the fruit rots in the bowl and I sit on the sofa bingeing on box sets and chocolate cake.
Maybe I need to lower my goals a bit.
For a great lemon cake recipe, click here
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