Rolf Danner

“That apple pie looks really good. So does the cherry pie.” – “But I already had a muffin in the morning. Ok, a muffin and a half. I hadn’t planned on eating that either.” – “No, you don’t NEED to eat the pie. You want to stick to your diet. Remember, you want to lose weight.” – “How will you feel once you finished it? How will you feel tomorrow morning when you step on the scale?” – “I really, really want that pie!” – “But do you need it? Do you really need to eat it right now?” – “Ok, I don’t NEED to eat it, but it looks really good!”

That about captures the dialog I had with myself on Thursday in front of the dessert tray. There is probably nothing more threatening to your diet than being locked up for four days in a really boring class, glued to your chair in a darkened room while an elderly presenter drones on, reading from PowerPoint slides. To make things worse, food is catered all day starting with breakfast, moving through lunch including the desserts mentioned and closing with afternoon snacks. They are really trying to fatten me up here. Bore me to tears, restrict physical activity, and then put plenty of food right there. The picture of the little piggy in the trough flashes in my mind and I finally pull my hand back from the pie. I hope nobody notices that I was standing there frozen for minutes, only swaying back and forth as the forces of good and evil play out their scene.

That’s where I am after three weeks on the new eating plan. I’m learning not to call it a diet. A diet suggests something temporary. This is a change for good. Though I’m not swearing off the sweet stuff completely. While I can imagine a life without chocolate, ice cream and cake, I can’t imagine I would want to live in such a world. A pint of ice cream every night on the other hand, well that’s not strictly necessary. I think I can introduce some moderation even in the long run.

Jeff by the way is a great help. He is experimenting with ways to cook healthier food choices for dinner and gives just the right feedback when prompted. While the bathroom scale is a good way of tracking progress, the more impressive measure is the fit of my pants. I might even have to by a new belt. I also feel real progress in hiking and in my yoga class. Gone are the times when I claimed loudly that the unseen forces of the universe had yet again made the Thursday hike steeper and longer than the previous week. On the contrary, it is getting a little easier each time. And it doesn’t feel so hard to move from cobra to downward dog anymore. I really can make that move without flashing stars and a stream of foul thoughts directed at the yoga teacher.

I’m still waiting for someone to comment on my progress. Or rather, comment without me saying: “Honey, how do you think I look. I really could use a compliment right now.” Those responses, while appreciated, do feel a little forced. But hey, if you don’t ask for what you need, how would your loved one know how to take care of you? It is so much better to speak up, or move a hand or body part here or there, than thinking: “I wish he would…” But that’s really an article for another time.