Extra cheese, please

As I happily ate my cheeseburger, I made the mistake of glancing down at the wrapper that had been holding it for the approximate thirty seconds between someone slapping it together and me ripping it open like it was an antidote for poison I had just been given.

400 calories? For a tiny cheeseburger? Add my fries and the glass of sugar I had decided to consume with it and I was looking at an entire days worth of calories. “Well,” I said out loud, speaking directly to my food since I was sitting in my car alone, “if I go for a 13 hour walk through the park later, that should totally take care of things.”

It was now a month before my big 3-0, and my goal of dropping 15 pounds was looking…..slimmer and slimmer (sorry, I couldn’t resist.)

I quickly began to calculate how much weight I could realistically drop each week to reach my goal. After spending way too much trying to divide 15 by 4 in my head (I’m an arts major, not a mathematician,) I realized I could still fit into the dress I had purposely bought one size too small in, in anticipation that I would somehow find some self-control when it came to frequenting restaurants in this city.

I set a goal for myself and made a mental note to consume more vegetables than the ones I find on my burger. I suppose I’ll also need to start drinking something called “water”, which I recently found out I can drink on its own and is not just an accompaniment for the multiple ceasars I order. I can only imagine the server brings the water in an attempt to offset the bloat from the insane amount of sodium I consume that leaves me looking about 5 months pregnant by the time I leave the restaurant. I know the kind elderly lady was only trying to be friendly, but she looked mighty concerned when the only answer I had to her question of “do you know what you’re having?” was “yes, a good time.”

So, with that, I wrote down a little plan for myself over the next 4 weeks. It also included making the leap from seriously considering exercising to actually putting on workout clothes and following along to whatever overly enthusiastic instructor I could find on YouTube.

I felt good about this plan, as I wandered through downtown Winnipeg on my way to meet a friend for dinner.

“Hi there hun, what can I get you to drink?”

“Strawberry margarita, please.”

I start tomorrow.

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