2010 so far

I made a resolution this year to eat less sugar. It should be an easy resolution to eat less; it would certainly be difficult to eat more. Yesterday I ate nearly a half-pound of dark chocolate M&M’s. Have you had those? God, they are good. Supposedly, the darker the chocolate, the less you’ll eat. I can only imagine how much I’d have eaten if they’d been regular M&M’s instead of dark. I probably would not be typing this; instead I’d be splayed on the tile in a diabetic coma, chocolate-tinged drool pooling beneath my cheek. Anyway, my goal today is to eat less sugar than I ate yesterday, sort of in a ramp-down. I’m out of M&M’s, so that should help. But I found some cream cheese cake icing in the fridge and I have already polished it off this morning, just one finger-lick at a time (until it became clear that I was going to eat all of it, at which point I just got out a spoon and went for it.) In addition to the icing, I’ve eaten 3 Oreos today, but with 2/3 of the package remaining, I’d say there is 100% chance of Oreos later this afternoon. Things will start to get dicey after the Oreos are gone. A little ice cream and 7 Hershey kisses are all that will remain between me and a healthier diet – one that is constructed of multiple food groups, not just the itty bitty one at the top of the pyramid.

With my blood sugar plummeting, I figure I’ll be a serious bitch by Tuesday or Wednesday. Temporary, I’ll remind myself, It’s only temporary. My body will soon adjust and will begin to crave broccoli instead of Dove bars. I just have to get through the first couple of weeks and then it’ll be smooth sailing. By the time my birthday rolls around in July I’ll probably not even be interested in cake; I’ll have my husband hunting all over town to find something flourless and sugarless he can stick my candles in.

Of course my husband (M) is supporting my diet. When we were going through infertility treatments, he could hardly stand to administer the injections into my hip. Now that my doctor has said I’m pre-diabetic and have to change my lifestyle before I get Type 2 diabetes, I think M is afraid of going back to giving me shots.

A more courageous and selfless person would most likely take responsibility for her situation and give herself the glucose injections. But after nearly seven years of marriage, M knows me well enough to realize that I am neither courageous nor selfless and that he will definitely be the one giving the shots, preferably while I am asleep and/or in an altered state of mind. But, again, that is IF I don’t change my eating habits, which I am absolutely going to do. Right after I get rid of all the sweets in my house.

A change in lifestyle will also require me to exercise every once in a while. I am not one to set lofty goals – I’ve always thought it easier to set the bar really low and then surprise myself by surpassing my miniscule expectations – so I’m not going to run out and join a gym or anything. I’m thinking more along the lines of walking faster when I’m out shopping. That should count as exercise, right? I mean there are entire gangs of octogenarians who whoosh through our local mall each morning in the name of fitness. (Don’t worry, I’m not planning to join a gang; I just meant maybe I could park further from the food court and speed walk toward the delightful smell of cinnamon pretzels baking at Auntie Anne’s – not that I’d be tempted to buy one, of course.)

I once read a study that suggested that people who thought about working out were actually in better shape than those who didn’t think about it, even though neither control group actually got off the couch. That serves as an inspiration to me. If those people could sit around and think about exercising, what is to say I couldn’t do the same? I’m just as lazy as the next guy, so I decided to go for it. I’m conducting a similar experiment by concentrating on doing 100 perfect squat thrusts, all in my mind. I’ve done it a few times now and my ass is still as saggy as ever, so I’m thinking of carrying an imaginary 20 lb. sack of flour on my shoulders the next time I mentally squat-thrust. Maybe I’ll build up to it; we’ll just have to see. I’m also going to need to incorporate some abdominal thoughts – that muffin top I’ve got isn’t going to just go away on its own, I know. It’s all about goals; you’ve got to have goals.

Right now I am focusing on making it through today with the Oreos, the ice cream, and the Kisses. I don’t know what tomorrow holds. I keep hoping it holds a dead sugar-eating tapeworm, but I know that’s just wishful obsessing.

For now you can support me by denouncing sugar as the enemy – you know, strength in numbers and all that. Say it with me: You are bad, Sugar, bad, bad, bad!

In addition, if you see me at the mall, crawling toward Auntie Anne’s, kick me. You read right – just kick my sorry hyperglycemic ass all the way back to the kid’s section of Macy’s, where a dehydrated person could more easily find sustenance in the Saharan Desert than in that maddening circular hell. I will be safe there until either M can come and get me or I can summon the strength to stumble to my car, whereupon I will collapse onto the back seat and lick the sticky remains of my daughter’s 2-week-old candy cane off the floorboard until I am fit to safely drive myself to my (sugarless) home.

Thank you, America, for your cooperation and support.