I'm laying here on the couch, and my stomach has turned into a food baby that's laying here beside me. I'm stuffed. I didn't have an enormous dinner. Okay, so I had second helpings, but it was pretty healthy stuff. I think it was the cookie dough after dinner that did me in.
Let me just confess. Every waking moment lately, I am fighting the urge to have a pre-Pick Five Mardi Gras. I want to totally go Veruca Salt and have cream buns and doughnuts and fruitcake with no nuts so good you could go nuts. Give it to me now. Actually all of that stuff sounds pretty gross. But I could go for a big bowl of mint chip ice cream and a cold tall glass of chocolate milk about now.
I have this little control problem all the time. I fight the urge to leave gigantic teeth marks in the 2 lb. block of colby jack in the deli drawer. And I try not to eat the third or fourth bowl of cereal in the morning. I argue with myself and say motivating things to myself like, "C'mon, how bad do you want to fit into those jeans again?" and "It's so not worth it." But then I tell myself to shut the hell up, who asked you, and eat whatever it was that I was arguing about. I guess my inner personal trainer ain't as tough as she thought she was.
But I always thought the idea of Mardi Gras was a load of crap. If you're preparing for a solemn event in which you discipline yourself for the sake of God, maybe it's not so good to go crazy and turn glutton the day before. (Kind of like bachelor parties. Don't get me started.)
I am so close, so close. I have to keep it together for four more days. I know that when my 40-day Pick Five starts, that's it. My discipline won't be coming from my own strength at that point, thank the Lord. And I know that I won't have these internal discussions any more. Personal Trainer Me will be gone, and Indulgent Me will be gone, too. In fact, I'm not sure Me will even be there. Just a frame of me, waiting to be filled with the New Me.
And that's motivation enough to sober up for the event.