Almost

When it comes to food, I would have to say that my favorite of all time is pizza.I was probably nine or ten the first time I had it - and from there it existed in my life forever more.
I remember looking in the freezer and asking Mom what pizza pie was.
It looked horrible and I ALMOST refused to taste it.See, that word “ALMOST” really got me in trouble.If I hadn't tried pizza back in my childhood, chances are I wouldn't like it today.
I could be going through my life right at this very moment in skinny jeans and a skimpy camisole -easily strutting a tiny “six pack” that glistens with a summer tan.But because “ALMOST” turned into “Go for it!”, I must sadly live out my days in sweat pants, sloppy shirts and begrudgingly lug around full size,lily-white “keg” of a belly.Over the years, I've grown tired of other fast food. 
Hamburgers are dry, chicken is unappealing,
tacos give me heartburn
and Chinese gives me the creeps.But, a pizza well made is a delight to the senses.
I never seem to tire of the vast array of toppings and crusts and styles.
Pizza is never boring, delicious even when cold, and can be eaten 24/7.Due to a slight inflation of my physical proportions, I opted to try variations of pizza made for those on a diet.
How in the world do you “diet-up” a pizza?
Leave out the crunchy, greasy crust? No.
Forsake the pepperoni, Italian sausage, and hamburger? No.
Nix the thick, melted cheese and Parmesan? No, no, no!A diet pizza tastes like a slice of cardboard smothered in ketchup topped with something resembling cheese dust.
It's not even “ALMOST” good.

If you enjoy pizza as well as I do, the most crucial item you must own is a good pizza cutter.
Now, I don't know about you, but I think that the only thing that will slice into a deep crust supreme pizza is a nice sharp pizza cutter.
Nothing else works.
Forget those butcher knives and miracle blades.
A good pizza cutter can rip through those layers of cheese faster than you can salivate over the pepperoni.

I suppose that is why I throw my pizza cutter away every time I start a new diet.
Yes- I throw it away!
I don't simply hide it away in the back of the utensil drawer or stuff it in a box to be stored in the basement.
To hide the pizza cutter is like trying to hide a candy bar!
You will always know where it's at.
It will haunt you.

Then sooner or later you're going to weaken and give in.
You're going to empty that utensil drawer on the bed and cut every finger on your hands trying to retrieve the pizza cutter.
You're going to rush to the basement two stairs at a time and dig beneath twenty years of accumulated mess to hold that pizza cutter once again.

Believe me, I have done it!
You must always, always, throw the darn thing away!

When you throw away your pizza cutter,it would also be a good time to go through that utensil drawer or junk box to inventory other items that might hamper your ability to lose the first eighth of a pound you have been shooting for a month ago.

Personally, in an attempt to jump start my diet, I have rid myself of pastry knives, ice cream scoops, spring-form cheesecake pans and cookie cutters.

No skinny woman on the face of the Earth owns those things!
Skinny woman own melon ballers, tea strainers, chop sticks and lettuce bags.

But, it never fails.
Right after I've sent the pizza cutter to the big dumpster in the sky, my diet comes to a streaking halt.

“Pizza anyone?” the family will say.
“No, you Sillies,” I laugh nervously, “I don't even have a pizza cutter.
How about a nice Cobb salad and a glass of tomato juice?”

“Well, Mom, ” they say dryly, “we are going for TAKE OUT.
The pizza is already cut for you, remember?”

Then, of course, I have no other valid excuse.

Only a hard, callous woman would deny her children the bonding experience that comes with eating pizza at the kitchen table - the family laughing and talking and stuffing themselves till their waist bands snap.

The saddest thing is, I "ALMOST" said no!

“Make mine with extra cheese,” I whispered to my son as he stepped out the back door.
“And pick up a new pizza cutter, will ya'?”

The Long Battle

If you've ever studied history, watched the evening news or listened to grandpa tell stories, you know that wars can last a long time. It can take decades to win the battle. It's an ongoing fight that has its shares of ups and downs, wins and losses. Sometimes it can be years before you can safely wave that flag and proclaim victory.

It's the same thing with a diet. Here I am almost a year later, still counting grapes and measuring oats and throwing out perfectly good birthday cake. Here I am - still craving nachos, cheesecake and whatever special two-tiered gooey-sauced sandwich that McD's is bragging about on their marquee.
Here I am- still suffering from back fat, arm wings as big as a condor and that darn waist Python that refuses to be tucked in, sucked in or disguised.

And yet, every single day I wake up and imagine my meals for the day. They are modest. Low calorie. Bird-like and sensible. I tell myself if I follow the plan I can wear that great striped tunic in my closet, something other than three-quarter sleeves in 95degree weather, and look at myself in the mirror when I exit the shower.
But somewhere along the way, I am ambushed. The war is in the other court. Food takes the advantage. I'm faced with bullets of baked goods, shrapnel of spaghetti, mine fields of  marshmallow, mayonnaise, mini donuts, Mac and cheese and malts. They hit me so darn hard. Even my extra gut can't deflect the incoming assaults. I feel like sitting in my fox hole -eat that candy bar and taco -and just surrender.

But, we can't. You know we can't. Nothing hard is ever easy. Hmmm...did I say that right? Nothing worth doing is ever done in vain. Or something like that. Our health, our happiness, our self esteem- our future- depends on us fighting this fight with all the gusto and strength and willpower that we can muster!
We can imagine the end. We can dream. But we must take it one day at a time. Be our best. Do what we know is right.
Someday we can raise that flag and everyone will cheer when they see the arm wings  have melted, that nasty waist Python has disappeared, the triple ripple neck has returned to a single entity and we no longer need a zip code for our butt! Yay for that day!

So, I stopped in today to say-I'm always fighting- and you must, too. The battle is long and hard and never quite fair. But it will be worth it.
Get out of that fox hole and give it all you've got!

Big Giant Book Of Excuses

I guess some things never change...It seems I'm about as consistent with my blogging as I am with my diet. Good intentions and the best laid plans are nothing without following through. Somehow that straight and narrow path to the single digit sizes suddenly got steep, curvy, dangerous, and crazy.
I've lost nothing but my way.

I've pulled out my Big Giant Book Of Excuses today. It's heavier than I am! I've cracked it open to The Seasons, of which I do believe is a proper excuse for not following a diet. Just crawling out of a long winter makes a bear hungry and angry - of which I am both, although I can never explain the angry part. Just take my word for it.

Then I flip my book over to Celebrations. Excuse # 2912. I had a wedding to attend. And it encompassed dinners and breakfasts and cake and snacks and fast food and all manner of non healthy treats that cause a sort of diet amnesia. Frankly, it's been four days since the wedding and I still have a bit of brain fog. It's causing me to steer way too close to pancakes and pizza.

Of course, there's always that final, lingering excuse. The big one you try to tell yourself everyday of your big obese life. It's found under, Who Cares? I've been arguing with my sensible self that it doesn't matter. I wasn't meant to be thin. Or I'm not that fat. Or I'll do it later, next month, or whenever my body is ready.

Of all the millions of excuses in the book, that is the most dangerous. Because it does matter. You are worth it. So many people really do care because it's not just your physical being that is involved here, but also your health, your spirit and your attitude. Those that love you do care even though they may not be there to cheer while you're on the treadmill or scramble your eggs for you. They may not hang around to point out your mistakes, count your calories for you or hold your hand during weigh in. But they care. They truly do. They want you to fly!

So, I know it's difficult to follow someone who doesn't know where they are going. But, actually, I do know where I'm going.
I'm just kinda lost now, but I have a goal. I know what's beyond the forest of excuses. I know what awaits me down the highway of temptation and the path of fear. I know what it takes to get there.

Put away the excuses.

The journey is never how you dream it, but the destination will be. Remember that.