Before you judge this article by the heading (yes, you are supposed to), let me tell a little bit more about the protagonist. Let us call her, Whiny Bear. She is not a Whiny Fox, or a Whiny Cat. She is a Bear. She is a woman, a mother, wife, a professional, a dreamer, and she is a little tired.
Life has not been super smooth. Life has not been super difficult either. She does not believe in body images or so she presumes, but she wants to be fitter, and healthier. She wants to get more out of life and enjoy looking at the mirror once in a while without getting all emotional. She is you. She is me. She is a bit of all of us. This is our sneak peek into her journey to her “perfect body”.
Nothing extraordinary happened when I got off the bed this morning. After a few turns around the hot sun, I guess you get immune to the special day. My husband asked me a casual question. “So, what do you want to do for your birthday this time?”. I muttered something inconsequential. But that, obviously, triggered a chain of self-deprecating thoughts. Birthdays had stopped being fun at least 3 years ago.
- go to site Three years back, I was trying to lose weight to make room for the impending pregnancy weight. I remember hubby getting me a sinfully tasty chocolate cake that I ignored with passion until midnight when I sneaked in a little piece. Hubby, guilelessly and dutifully, ate the remaining while I savored my chocolate flavored guilt.
- source site The year before last, my daughter was in my tummy and I had no desire for cake! For some unknown reason, I puked at the smell of the cake and had lemonade instead.
- Last year, umm.. nope can’t recollect anything. What happened on my birthday?! The entire year’s memories are bundled into a dazed feeling of sleeplessness and helplessness, typical of new parents .
In the course of these 3 years, I have unceremoniously crossed the 30-year mark. And now, my husband’s casual question about my birthday threw me off! I had promised myself to buy a dress size lesser than the maternity variety this time. Another failed year is over already?
I brooded all day today, a hell of a lot. I browsed the internet, looking for some magic mantra that will evaporate those extra kilos. I read inspiring weight loss journals, dazzling fitness club advertisements and incredible at-home resources to kill it!. So, I am now sufficiently inspired to start, yet again, my journey to the perfect body.
go Following are few interesting links that caught my eye:
- http://ajm-web-designs.co.uk/milestone-storage/ Caloriecount.com
- 1 trades binaere optionen JM Shred
- http://www.hotelosmolinos.com/?epirew=mujer-busca-hombre-mar-de-ajo&0c0=a5 Leslie Walks
I browsed more videos today. Watching videos can be exhausting. It is like a full-time job. If only thinking utilized calories, all those “computer wielding, chair leaning” professionals, a la me, would be anorexic!
I also browsed diet plans today. I am yet to find one that will not end up killing me. Or one where I can pronounce the ingredients/recipes correctly.
Take this one for example
Aren’t pickles sinfully tasty and oily aam –ka –achaar (Spiced raw mangoes), or neemboo achaar (Spiced Lemons) in gud (molasses)? Apparently not. And what the hell is a Chia seed? Where do you get unsweetened coconut flakes? I have no idea what they are talking about! The only coconut flakes recipe I know is “naarkel naaru” (a Bengali sweet delicacy) and that is hardly calorie poor!
Also, reading about diet makes me very hungry. I interspersed all this reading with extensive activity – a thousand trips to my refrigerator and back!
I have started “dieting”. Self-shudder! Oh, all those sniggers I suppressed when skinny girls fussed over food, and how I laughed about people counting calories before ordering food in a restaurant! The cruel jokes that I shared about anyone who refused a binary option 60 sec 10 euro “roshogolla http://bestff.net/fonts.googleapis.com/css/?family=Fjalla One:400/Cantarell:400 ”, to my advantage, has come back to bite me on my big butt.
For the last two days, I have shallow fried my fish for the maacher option time broker regolamentato demo –jhol, snacked on cream cracker biscuits instead of ginger cookies, had unsweetened orange juice instead of strawberry smoothie with condensed milk.
On a completely unrelated note, it has also been two days since I have yelled pointlessly at people and Googled symptoms of depression instead of vacation spots.
Faux-Wisdom from a struggling body crafter: Our metabolic rate is kind of comparable to the way we spend money. When we are young and have very little money with us, we save zilch. Our body, likewise young and carefree, sheds off all the calories earned thanks to junk food, cheap alcohol, and other, similar crap – lulling us into a false self-belief that the damage is reversible. As we grow older, we earn more money and want to spend less, saving for future. Our bodies, selfish bastards, also start saving the calories that we intake. Like a profound character in the F.R.I.E.N.D.S character once prophesied, once you are old, “A moment on your lips, Forever on your hips!”
It is the weekend – the 2/7th of my life that actually has any meaning! I am sure you understand that it was impolite to stay put on my high-wagon. I had to, at least, taste all the fare put in front of me in a house party! That’s just decent guest protocol.
http://oepib.org/?efiop=speed-dating-murcia-2017&ac4=0d I also had a McBurger and coffee for lunch – I mean, if you are ditching, ditch all the way through, right?
I have the perfect rationalization for the deviation, I promise. Today was a hectic day, what with weekly groceries, daughter’s shopping mall poo incident and a dinner invitation. There was literally no time for cooking. And dieting or not, I simply cannot make myself purchase decorated lettuce at the same cost as fried chicken and mayonnaise. Taste has got to be differentially priced, man. So, there went the salad option. Evening found me catering to the need to appreciate the toil of a dear friend. She had cooked so many delicious items with generous portions of love and fat, that counting calories were the furthest thing from my mind.
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