Drag Me To Hell
I got a silly notion in my head that I would lose 10 lbs (or as close as I could) before Christmas.
No, it wasn’t silly. It was a determination that I WOULD set myself on a healthier path going into 2011.
Yes, I was determined. Having recognized some of my weaker points, I set about to push them away and be enveloped by healthy lifestyle.
Only, carbs are the curse on my life.
Just like in the horror movies, I set upon my merry way, ignorant of what was about to come. I happily sat in my office, bustled around at home, ran on the treadmill, ran through the snowy streets of town, rejected bad-for-you foods, began weaning myself of crutches, like purchased ice tea, increased hydration levels until I could float to the bathroom. I was burning calories and getting stronger.
I shunned sugar in its simplest form because it was the simplest to identify. Then I shunned breaded and deep fried foods for similar reasons. But, that did not make the carbs happy. They were eager to teach me, to trap me.
At first, their attacks were so veiled they were overlooked. The smashed potatoes were not sugar and not deep fried foods. I only ate half of what I was served. The bacon rolls were not sugar nor a deep fried food. I only took one every other time the waitress at the party came by. The chicken wrap filled with unidentified carbs tasted so well.
Having been a success in its first attack, the curse amplified its efforts. Looking back, I mistook my decision to slightly bend the dieting rules for what was actually a possession of sugar. The curse was testing its strength over my resistance. I thought I was in control because I only took one bite of the cake. In truth, sugar possessed of my will power and was just beginning to show me who was in control.
Only days later, I’m driven mad as the cookies were chanting and screaming at me. The salt and vinegar chips were following me everywhere, popping out at me from behind every door and nook and cranny. Moaning and cackling. They are joined in force by buttered popcorn and peanut butter cups. Taunting me. Frightening me. Cornering me.
I fight back the only way I know how. Sure, that one more time will only help rather than hurt. In desperation, I cram them into my mouth, using my teeth to gnash and gnaw them to death. Frantically, I silence their tormenting calls. I stomp out their moans with every clamp of my teeth. Till they are gone, all gone, and I am spent.
It is only later, when I am looking into the refrigerator, thinking about my war with the curse. That a horrible fear fills me as realization sinks in. I have not reversed the curse. Chomping on those nutmeg cookies, whoopee cookies, date cookies, chips, egg rolls, buttered popcorn, French fries, patty melts, dinner rolls, Reese’s peanut butter cups, and chocolate covered granola bars has condemned me. The floor opens up beneath me as the scaly arms of carbohydrates reaches up and drags me down into the depths of obesity hell.
All that remains of me in the kitchen is a granola wrapper lying in the middle of the floor. My son walks into the room, ignorant of what has happened to me and ignorant of what will likely happen to him some day. He sees the granola wrapper on the floor. He picks it up to put it in the garbage but looks at it closely first. He does not recognize the eager, evil eye looking back out of the wrapper at him. Instead, he thinks a chocolate covered granola bar would taste really good right now.