I Hate Food

I hate food.  I do.  Really.

Don’t get me wrong.  I love how it tastes.  A little too much.  It makes me forget what comes later…eaters remorse.

“Why did I eat that?”

“No wonder I can’t lose weight.”

“Why do I do this to myself all the time?”

“Why did I inhale those useless calories and then eat something right after it so the taste is just a memory?”

Why, why, why?

I’ve been trying to lose some weight.  I’m not happy with my size or my flab.  I love my legs,  but I hate the rest of my body.  I hate mirrors, they remind me of the weight I carry.

I exercise, faithfully.  Biking, walking, running, PiYoing almost daily.  I’ve got that part of healthy sorted out.  It’s the darn food that kills me.  I don’t know how to get a handle on it.  I keep saying today, I will be better…and I turn out worse.  I look at the yummy, and think, I don’t need that, or really want it, but it’s there and YUM.

Too bad I am not even done eating it before the eaters remorse hits.  And then every bite feels like lead in my belly.  Sitting there.  Mocking me.  Taunting me.  Hating me.

I say I run, but really I’m a big blimp with little legs.  I’m guessing most people think, aw, isn’t that cute–she’s trying to run.  I do walk.  Up to 12 miles a day, but for some reason no matter how much I do, it is never enough to make a difference.

I am frustrated and whiny about this right now.  I have a Dairy Queen blizzard hating me.  Sitting there.  Mocking me.  Taunting me.

Like I said–

I  hate food.