The Birthday Party

Slim and healthy people do not eat their own weight in pies, frankfurters, birthday cake and chocolate crackles.  Not even as a coping mechanism in the face of 30 preschoolers on a hyperactive sugar high.

If only I had told myself this truth before I reached for the sweets.  Admittedly, I did remarkably well avoiding alcohol and instead sipping water, but deep inside I was thinking, "if I don't eat the pies and I don't drink the giggly lolly water, I can eat cake!!!!".

Without wanting to sound like a disciple, Michelle is right.  Every action has a thought behind it.  I knew precisely what I was doing when I suggested that my daughter have a lovely little slice of cheesecake.  And oh, look, they're cutting that pretty pink birthday cake - well, we can't go without having a piece of that.

Really?  Is that a rule?  Would we be sent to the naughty corner (or, worse than that, be forced to lie on the trampoline while abovementioned tiny terrors jumped on us and pulled our hair . . . oh no, wait, that did actually happen).

Truth be told, I'm not super mad at myself.  I did much better than I normally would.  I only slipped up on having a bit of cake, and even then, I only ate a little.

If anything, I'm a bit disappointed that I blew those calories and didn't really enjoy it.  All of a sudden, sweets  just don't really rock my world anymore.  For some crazy reason, those little sugary compounds and their creamy friends no longer have a positive effect on my emotional well being.  And eating a slice of chocolate cake doesn't even come close to being a spiritual experience.

Incidentally, what is it with this chocolate fixation?  I'm beginning to think that it's only because we women talk about being chocoholics so much that we are actually chocoholics.

So, it's true: think, and you will do.

So, this morning, I opted for a positive thought.  I had this idea that I would jog much more of my jog/walk than ever before.  I had this idea that after my fifth set of 90 seconds of jogging, I would just keep on jogging.  And I did.  And then I did another few sets, and on the last of those, I jogged some more.  Even ran for a bit.  Only my dinky achilles prevented me from tearing up the pavement some more.

I'm not proud of my birthday cake incident.  But I am very pleased with  myself that I literally ran away from it (and possibly ran it off) this morning, putting it way, way behind me.  And I'm not looking back.