Are We There Yet? |

Are We There Yet?

I’ve decided it’s time to lose those last pesky pounds I put on during pregnancy since my youngest will be turning seven next month. Because I can’t stand the thought of actual dieting, I decided to step up the workouts instead. I hired a personal trainer and after an hour of putting my body through various exercises and finding muscles I didn’t know I had, I felt great.”Thanks,” I said, feeling slimmer already. “See you tomorrow?””Tomorrow!” She said in a perky voice.The next morning I couldn’t move.”Uh, I’m going to have to cancel today,” I told her as I tried to hold the phone at just the right angle so it wouldn’t hurt my abdomen.”OK, no problem. Just keep a journal and write down everything you eat today. You’ll be amazed how many calories you take in without even realizing it,” she said.So, after journaling for a single day the result was unmistakable, and herein lies my problem: I am genetically unable to deny myself. I have absolutely no will power. Zero. Zilch. Nada.I marvel at all the hard-bodied, yoga-trained women in the Roaring Fork Valley. Maybe it’s just a difference in our metabolism. Then again, maybe it’s Mint Milanos.Either way, I do think about working out more and shedding those interminable pounds. Doesn’t that count for something? I bumped into my trainer at the ice rink and I ran this theory past her. She casually ignored the premise and asked when I wanted to work out with her again.”How about tomorrow?” she asked, watching as my son shoved a half a Snickers bar in my mouth.”Mmph-mm,” I said.A few regular workouts later I can actually roll over in bed without grimacing in pain and I do notice a slight difference in my weight distribution. I’ve tricked myself into some semblance of will-power by staying focused on Thanksgiving – I know if I can keep this up for a few more days I will be rewarded with all the anti-Atkins food I can heap on one plate. This morning my nine-year-old hugged me around the waist and nuzzled his head in my stomach.”You feel skinnier,” he said.”I do? Thanks!””Why?” he mused. “Do you want to be skinnier?””Well, maybe just a little.””Hm,” he thought about this for a minute.Then he lovingly patted my stomach and said, “Whatever. I like how cushy you are.”Now that’s worth writing in a journal.Charla Belinski teaches the parenting course, Redirecting Children’s Behavior. Contact her at

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