I have officially finished reading the latest diet book as part of my New Year’s resolution. And I’ve determined, officially as well, that it won’t work for me. This one has you replacing lentils with bone marrow and spelt bread with chicken livers. I can’t do it. Bone marrow. That’s right up there with tripe and pickled pigs feet in my book.
There are so many diets and so many experts it makes for the perfect excuse to not start a diet. It would take infinity to research which one is best for you. Besides, it doesn’t matter how many books about diet I read, nothing takes away from that little voice in my head. The one that sounds suspiciously like my late mother’s and keeps saying, “Just get up off your (&(*( and move!” If I couple her advice with eating a balanced diet of twigs and leaves I think I’d be successful.
Honestly, though, I’d rather read and write about diets than actually start one. Besides I’m just now coming off that Christmas sugar high. I’ve eaten things I waited a whole year to eat and I plan to revel in it a while longer. I’m in no hurry (see above quote from my mother).
To make matters worse, we just moved to Martha’s Vineyard a few months ago (I’ll explain more about that later). I’m pretty sure that means I get to spend my summer comparing myself to thin, tan women whose sinewy legs make me want to throw in the proverbial beach towel before I even leave the house. It’s even worse when you consider many of them have borne children and probably managed lucrative careers to boot.
Oh I know, at just past 50 I’m supposed to be at the age where it’s okay to say, “Screw all of you. I’m going to walk around with my varicose veins and chin hairs exposed and you’ll like it.” Truth is I just can’t bring myself to it. Maybe when I’m 72 or something I’ll have the purple cape and red hat mentality but I’m not there yet. I’m more the “No thanks honey. I’ll just stay here and shell the peas. You go ahead to the beach” type.
My inability to stick with a diet didn’t happen overnight. This has been ongoing, everlasting. I can remember being in the school cafeteria in junior high eating green peppers and celery sticks while my friends were eating Twinkies. It’s just not fair I tell you. I have yet to apologize to the poor kid whose snack I used to sneak bites of while we were in first grade reading group. That’s why I still hide my snacks to this day. I know there are people out there just like me who wouldn’t think twice about taking a handful of Doritos out of my bag. That kid should have kept his baggies in his lunch box if he knew what was good for him.
This has been a constant battle for as long as I can remember. Ironically, I am trying to make a living from doing a job that has me sitting on my derriere 24/7. I only get up from the keyboard so that I can go into the kitchen and find a snack. Does that count as exercise because I’m pretty sure I get up and down several times a day.
At this point, I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready for the summer season when tan hipsters hit the beaches in my now cold, quiet little community. Oh, I’m fine this time of year. I’ve got insulation in places they didn’t even know existed. I would kick their toned butts in a wintertime “who can keep warm” contest. Truthfully, I’ve always preferred enjoying the outdoors in the winter when I can cover up with long, bulky sweaters and my husband’s wool socks. Maybe I could find a turtleneck swimsuit.