I started the year with high hopes. A steady stream of energy was pulsing through me. I lapped it up. Between perimenopause and a lackluster thyroid, bursts of energy are rare.
It was time to correct holiday sins and clean up my act. A seven day greens cleanse was just the answer. I made my shopping list and dropped one hundred and forty dollars on produce, coconut milk, and vegetable broth. I was ready. I even allowed my enthusiasm a creative touch as I traced the seven day span in green on the kitchen calendar.
Let’s do this!
Day one became day seven. That was not the plan, but neither was hurling greens into a recently cleaned toilet. I was thankful for the clean part, but that was it. The broccoli puree that came out as green as it went in made me shudder, and left me hugging the toilet bowl even harder. Yuck! I wanted a coke to settle the rumble in my stomach. I didn’t know if I would ever be able to eat something green again.
I had big plans and the discipline needed to drop the six holiday pounds I gained. The regret was deep. Who’s idea was it to bake every Wednesday in the weeks leading up to Christmas? Mine. Who’s idea was it to just have a taste? Mine too.
It’s February 17th and I still haven’t lost those six pounds. My morning routine consists of stepping on the scale and promptly flipping it off. My former tricks aren’t working. The exercise isn’t working, and I’m just not willing to eat lettuce for the rest of my life.
I can eat greens, just not pureed ones.
Last week I was at my daughter’s house. She came into the living room cradling a spoonful of baby food she made. Green beans. “Here,” she said coming toward me.
I shuddered. “No. I can’t do it.”
“But it’s homemade,” she insisted.
“So was my broccoli soup.”
And so it goes. Just when I thought I had my body figured out I don’t. I am going to keep trying though. That’s the hard part as far as I’m concerned.
There are days I would like to give up.
Fuck it! I want brownies and pasta and chips! But then I remember I want health more. There’s always a choice, a decision to be made. You can’t do what you aren’t willing to do even if you pull it off for awhile. I’m not willing to commit to a life of lettuce, but I am willing to look for healthier options and continue learning and trying. In the meantime the bathroom scale will continue to get flipped off. I’m not perfect and that’s okay.