Food Victory

I attended a PFLAG meeting tonight under the auspices of registering voters and signing up volunteers for the Obama campaign. Seeing as the PFLAG community makes up 10 percent of Montana's liberals, they had it covered.

It was still a good time, and I met some very dynamic women. The purpose of the event was "ice cream social," so as soon as I walked in the door I got a sticky label with my name and was pushed toward the ice cream.

No, I don't eat ice cream, I told the nice lady. Well, there's sherbert, she says. Mmm, no thanks, from me. How about the yogurt then? she asked? None for me, thanks, I respond. Well I am sure you can find a healthy choice over there, someone tells me.

Um, it's four gallons of ice cream with various sauces and syrups. Healthy is not an option.

It's hard enough to decline something that I find to be among God's greatest gifts to humankind without someone pushing it on me. I eventually said something to that effect - as passively as possible - and they left me alone. But man! I have a Diet Coke here people, let me savor the sweetness of NOT having ice cream.

I have to admit, passing up ice cream is not something I've had a lot of success with. I credit the strawberry-pudding smoothie and fabulous turkey (plus swiss, avocado and tomato) sandwich I had for dinner prior to going for my ability to just relaly not feel like having any. It's true what they say - eat before a function and you won't eat at it. Of course, since I tend to eat before AND at it, it's not something that I usually have a lot of luck with.

Another food victory tonight went to the dogs. We had a nice walk late this evening, intending to go to the playground for them to frolic amongst the slides. But as there were children (I guess for whom the playground is actually INTENDED for) we kept walking. Eventually we crossed paths with another man and his dog, and as our pooches sniffed each other out we got to talking. Usually in this situation Zula annoys the other dog to all hell and barks at the stranger like someone's life is in danger. It's especially obnoxious when the stranger is a man. But there was nary a peep from her, and since Bodie listened and was his general good-natured self, I was praising them as we walked home. "You can even have a whole treat tonight!" I promised, since they usually each get 1/2-1/3 of a treat. Then I realized - the dogs don't care how much treat they get. It could be a pound or an ounce and they would just be thrilled to have the goodness chicken jerky provides their little tastebuds. But in my world, doing well means a treat - a cookie or frappe, ice cream or candy bar. And I am just messed up enough to pass this terrible habit to my children, er, dogs.

Marlene brought me over a book and some fitness mags tonight. She is doing the Body for Life program, which combines nutrition, cardio and weights to transform the most out of shape among us into hotties in twelve weeks. She is really pumped about it, and her enthusiasm is catching. She asked me to join with her, and I said I'd think about it. The truth is, I'm scared. What if I can't do it, and this is just another thing I fail at? What if it's hard, or I get tired and start slacking off? What if I miss out on my favorite foods and hate going to the gym six days a week? The other option, being fat, apparently isn't frightening enough to make all that worth it.