Wednesday, October 3, 2012

An Apple A Day Makes Me Want To Scream

Do you ever find yourself disliking people just because they are doing something you can't? Or won't? Or are simply too lazy, lame, or otherwise preoccupied to attempt?

I really, really love my husband. Truly, I do. But his precise and analytical mind is about to drive me bonkers! Who knew that starting a diet and health regimen would be so darn rigid and demanding? Who would have guessed he would walk the line so exact? That he would never fall off for the taste of nachos grande or chocolate covered cherries or thick potato soup swimming in cheese?

Seriously, this man has blinders on. All he sees is lettuce and protein shakes and sharpened pencils that calculate daily weight, calories, meals and balances. His diet diary is neater than the checkbook of an obsessive/compulsive accountant. And - get this- he actually thinks running is fun!

"How big was that apple," he'll say.

"Average." I'll answer.

"Well, which is it, Woman!? Large, medium, or small?

" Medium, I guess."

"Three and a quarter inches diameter, or two, or more?" He questions me impatiently.

I go dig the tape measure out of my sewing kit and am tempted to grab the scissors also. The movie Psycho flies through my mind for a quick moment, but I instead I run to measure the last apple in the fruit bowl.

"Ugh...three point seven eight inches exactly"' I announce breathlessly- my lips curled in an attacking pit bull pose.

The sorta "dislike" I mentioned earlier starts to fill my veins about that time.

But, you know what?

I look at this man.
Really see him with new eyes.
He has lost over fifty pounds in four months!

And his determination and inspiration has gotten me to shed twenty pounds of my own.

It is actually a blessing and not a curse that he graphs this thing out like a blueprint. If not for him, I would be shoving Hershey bars into my mouth and guessing they were fifty calories...or so.
I would be sitting on the couch watching American Pickers instead of walking thirty minutes on the treadmill.
I would have reasons like broken nails, an aching back, and the stuffed -crust -pizzas -were -on -sale -how-could-I-possibly-pass-them-up? excuse.

We are a team.
I may not always jot down the nutritional value of every avocado, walnut or cherry tomato I stick in my mouth, but I'm learning that it all adds up. I'm realizing that the excuse of not having enough time doesn't work anymore. We give up about an hour and a half of TV every other night to work out at the gym. I don't miss it at all. And the gym fees per month are less than one Pizza Hut carry out meal a week.

And when I glance over at him on the treadmill- his face sweating, his breath heavy, his eyes focused forward-  I'm glad I am along on this ride. 
We already feel like younger souls...

Face it, my husband would never find clean socks, know how to mop the kitchen floor, or ever remember to clean the lint trap on the dryer. 
That's what I'm here for.
But without him, this journey would be boring, haphazard, uneven, disorganized and useless.
And I would never have known that Chili's Awesome Onion Blossom is 2,130 calories.

I still don't measure my apples.
I don't count the raisins on my dinner salad.
And I haven't kept up my diet diary since Day 2.

But that's never gonna change....even if I do!

1 comment:

  1. There is no way on Gods green earth that I would miss American Pickers (or Canadian Pickers, or Storage Wars or Auction Hunters( for all the treadmills in captivity. Congrats on the weight loss though.