Heavenly hash ice cream. Chocolate brownies. A mint Aero bar. Lucky Charms breakfast ‘cereal’.
I’ve had plenty of tasty treats this week. But I’m eating humble pie today.
Three pounds. That was the number, right? Not point-eight?
The flesh wasn’t weak. The flesh usually isn’t. It was the spirit that fell short. My head just wasn’t in it. Heck, I wanted a week off from dieting, period. Out-of-province visitors – two sets – a rented cottage, a five-day weekend (I took a couple of holiday days to maximize the break). None of them were conducive to the Spartan existence I should be embracing to achieve maximum results.
Honestly, I thought it was touch and go if I’d even stay below 200. But my weight continues to creep down. The truth is, I’m blessed with a somewhat brisk metabolism. I can thank my younger, less-lazy self for that one.
There was a time when the gym and I weren’t strangers. I was 135 pounds when I turned 19, dieted-down from a soft 150 as a high school student. I set my sights on gaining weight through weight-lifting. I won’t claim to have had any particular aptitude, but persistence paid off and within a few years I topped 200 pounds. That’s right – I chose to be this weight. Of course, I had a lot more muscle mingled with the fat. Which is where the high-ish metabolism comes in.
Muscle burns calories. It’s not primarily a gender thing, either. A lean woman carrying lots of muscle will likely be able to eat more than a small chubby guy.
I’ve lost much of the muscle over the years, of course, and my metabolism has slowed down, but not completely.
The flesh isn’t weak, no, but my spirit needs work.
This is not an advice column. Please consult a medical expert or nutritionist for sound dietary advice. Eric Sparling is an Amherst Daily News reporter, and former senior editor at Oxygen, a women’s fitness magazine.