It's my husband's fault. He gave me this huge luscious box of candy on Valentine's Day. Chocolate truffles no less. The impulse when you get such a thing is to daintily slip off the ribbon that's holding the chocolates hostage and then, when no one's looking, quietly take the box into the bedroom, go under the blanket, and snort up the entire contents without your hands ever even touching the candy: Like a steam cleaner sucking up the delectable morsels. Or, if you'd rather: A Venus fly trap going after its prey. The obvious problem is: I usually find the chocolate scale to be very reliable: 10 pounds of chocolate equals 10 pounds of body fat. It takes 12 minutes to eat and 1200 miles of running over a 2 1/2 year period to get it off. Still worth it I think. (Theys was some good truffles.)
So in response to my conundrum, my husband, (the same husband who's my truffle-pusher), introduced me to a nutrition app. Now it owns me. I had been going along my merry way eating more or less the same for at least a decade: Eating healthy foods during the week and then whatever I wanted on the week ends... and sometimes Friday nights...and sometimes Friday all day starting immediately after I'd woken up and run into the bathroom to weigh myself.
I always kept mental calculations in my head and tried to stay under 2000 calories daily. Well the app will have none of that. Apparently if I go over 1630 calories, a hand will come out of my phone and slap me across the face. I don't dare risk it. And since I've found that consuming fewer than 1630 calories per day is not only improbable but inhumane, the only way around that stinking nemesis app is to barter myself more calories via exercise.
I've always been one of those nuts who likes to exercise but now running has become what sex was during fertility treatments: An unpleasantry I have to trudge through so I can get what I really want. In that case, it was a family. In this case it's the remainder of my Valentine's candy.
So every day, you'll see me out there in front of my house, doing the 5K Truffle Run up and down my 1-block-long subdivision. I keep a few chocolates in my mailbox at the end of the driveway. Every time I do a lap, I reach in and take the bite that I earned and then go around again to run it off. I notice I run faster these days. I'm also breathing heavier and sweating more: Not like when you're an athlete pushing the limits of your physical capabilities. More like when you're excited to see your new love.
If may be just my imagination, but as I round the cul-de-sac, I can swear that I can smell those chocolates inside the closed metal mailbox. Maybe when I hit my goal weight, I'll get a job at the airport sniffing around the baggage carousels. If someone's smuggling in Hershey bars from Pennsylvania, I'd be the first to know.
Believe me, you don't have to say it. I know that I'm on the brink of being out of control. You know when I'll be totally out of control? Next week when I start stashing chocolates in my neighbors' mailboxes along my 1 block route.