Caught with Egg on my face

I'm not a fan of the commercialisation of religious holidays, but I am a fan of chocolate. Needless to say, this Easter on my diet was torture. As mentioned in my previous post, a big part of my battle with food is the emotional aspect, so in the weeks leading up to Easter I was not only immersed in an off-limits world of chocolate, but also visually assaulted by bright coloured foils that evoked many a happy memory. As a child I always looked forward to getting up on Easter morning, grabbing my little basket and little brother and heading out to the yard where The Easter Bunny had strategically hidden the spoils under upturned toys and buckets. This was of course followed by an hour or so of careful unwrapping and the foregoing of breakfast in order to savour the tiny morsels of cheap chocolate, made oh-so-much-better by the fact that they were Easter Eggs.

In an attempt to attack the nostalgia, I ventured to the Reject Shop (classy) during my lunchbreak a few days before Easter, loaded up a basket with offending eggs and planned a hunt for my partner and my housemate. I had figured that the hunt might help curb my cravings for the actual chocolate, as it would allow me to enjoy the emotional aspect of Easter without the eating. As I went through the check-out, I couldn't help but notice a shiny display of cloned bunnies with foily little faces, mocking me in my struggle to maintain my willpower, and I thought (loudly) to myself "I'll show them!". Of course, that was easier said than done...

The day before the Easter break, I came in to work to find the most perfect, dainty chocolate in the shape of a hot cross bun perched smack in the middle of my desk. Without even thinking I exclaimed "Who put this on my desk!!!???" perhaps a little angrily, as my lovely Team Leader shyly explained that she knew I probably couldn't eat it, but didn't want to be rude by not including me in the office festivities. This was almost my undoing. For months I had exercised a willpower I never dreamt I could muster, but this little chocolate smelled so incredibly tasty and looked so immaculate in it's little paper patty-pan and I wanted to eat it. Nay, DEVOUR it. All day I could smell the warm spices mixed in with the bitter dark chocolate and I could see it out the corner of my eye, just daring me to have a taste. By the end of the day I had decided that I would either take it home and let it melt in the sun and get ants on it so that no one else could have it either, or give it away. I gave it away and I was sad. Sad over chocolate. And it wasn't even foily! It was because it was Easter chocolate that I wanted it so badly. See the pattern?

On the Saturday of the Easter break I arranged the eggs I'd purchased for my partner in various locations around the yard and hustled him out of bed before they had a chance to melt. He reluctantly got up, but was kind enough to humour me by enthusiastically searching for the eggs and gave me a big smile when they'd all been found. It was fun, but I was jealous! So far my theory had failed and I was starting to sulk. I wanted Easter Eggs!!! It was at that point that I just had to have one. Just one. I announced to my partner that I was going to have one and instantly felt guilty and judged, even though he didn't object or ask me "Are you sure?". Despite the dirty feeling, I carefully peeled the foil off of a tiny egg and popped it in my mouth. And it was good. So good. As I rolled it around in my mouth and let it melt over my tongue, I thought to myself "Well, that's that!" But that wasn't the end of it.

I managed not to eat any more chocolate that weekend and enjoyed hiding the remainder of the eggs for my housemate to find, but in the weeks that have followed I've relented on more than one occasion and have had a sneaky bit here and there. I can't help but feel as though that one little Easter Egg derailed me completely! Had I not given in to temptation, perhaps I may have stayed stronger in my resolve.

This is all your fault, Jesus.

(So THAT's what happened...)

I bet that Horse tastes good...

Like many others, I've watched The Biggest Loser and felt embarrassed witnessing obese people cry at the sight of a cheeseburger they've been forbidden to eat. I bet some people might think "Why is it so hard for them to just get over it? Surely feeling uncomfortable, bloated and tired should be enough to fuel their willpower?" Unfortunately, it's not as easy as all that. While their cases might seem extreme, regardless of how much weight you have to lose, be it 5 kilos or 50 kilos, it really isn't always as simple as just "getting over it" and getting back into shape. Despite what some fads may claim, willpower is a must, and in my case it's been the psychological demon that needs tackling first.

It wasn't until I started a "wellness diet" to kick my wayward hormones back into shape (and let's admit it, to "lose a few"), that I realised how much of an emotional attachment I have to food! Any food. For years (since I was about 11 or 12) I've been at the front line of a battle of the bulge and while I've "dieted" and exercised my heart out, never before have I been able to actually give up the food that I love or admit that perhaps I had "feelings" for that bowl of Cornflakes...Starting my current diet was painful, tiring and depressing, just like ending an emotionally abusive relationship with a human being.

I started out strong by making myself endure the monotony of the bland and lacklustre meals, most of them consisting of a small portion of protien, a boring selection of vegetables and two crackers. By the third week in I was 7 kilos lighter but utterly miserable and my pants wouldn't stay up. It wasn't long before I was crying on the shoulder of my wonderfully supportive partner "This isn't fair! I hate my diet, i'm not allowed to have anything. I just want to go out for dinner. Why do I have to go through this when others don't? UN. FAIR..." (I was legitimately teary over not being able to have a cone of chips at the Garden of Unearlthy Delights during the Fringe). I'd started to turn down dinner invitations or "drinks with the girls" because I couldn't bear the thought of sitting around sipping a soda water and nibbling on lettuce while my friends tucked into hearty looking dishes, washed down with any calorie-loaded beverage of their choice. It was torture!

Around this time I started to realise that my food addiction wasn't really about the food so much as the act of eating. Before the diet, any time I was bored, I'd eat. Any time I watched TV, I'd eat. Any time I went out, I'd eat. Then all of a sudden, I found myself doing the same activities, but the eating was missing and it felt strange. It took a while to get used to but once I realised that's all it was, I was able to put things in perspective. I had to rework my mindset and remind myself that the reason I enjoyed dining out so much was not just because of the food, but because of the atmosphere, the company, the conversation and the act of sitting down to a meal. So why stop doing it? I could still go out and be social, but order the salad. Likewise, I could still enjoy some down time in front of the tube without eating a packet of Tubes. Was this easy? Of course not! But it was the first hurdle cleared.

Now I'm at the 12 week mark, I'm feeling healthier and I have lost almost 17kg but none of this has gotten any easier. In fact, the more time that goes by, the harder it gets and the crazier I look craning my neck over someone else's plate to inhale the delicious aromas of a "real meal". Logically, it should be easier the closer I come to the finish, but I've found my willpower diminishing and my frustration growing. How much longer will I have to suffer without chocolate and chips??!! If I'm honest, it should be the rest of my life...

Clearly I'm not quite cured yet of my burning desire for "naughty" food, but for now I'll keep on with the rabbit food and try to remind myself/do my utmost to believe that nothing tastes as good as healthy feels.