Return of the Love Handles

I finally jumped on the bathroom scale. My worst fear came true. Despite two hours of martial arts practice twice a week, I have somehow gained 6 more pounds. I think this might be because I am so famished after stumbling out of the two hour ordeal that I rush towards the student union’s food court and stuff myself with junk food.

Currently, I am 15 pounds heavier than I was last semester.  I was 152 in the fall. Now my fat is really making me hate my body. I train hard during class and I keep up a routine of kickboxing over the weekend, but to no avail. I am the heaviest I have been in two years. Every time I get a glimpse of myself in the reflection of a car window or in the mirror, I think, oh no, what happened?

Drastic actions must be taken. I must eliminate fast food from my diet and vow to flee from the sight of chow mein bowls topped with delicious, tangy, juicy, orange chicken. I must yield to the blandness of salad and the repetition of roma tomato sandwiches with pesto sauce smeared on it instead of ranch.

I will lose this weight I’ve gained and then some. My shrink says that I should not feel guilty when I eat food, but I do. The sight of it sends me into delighted conniptions. After that, however, comes the moment when I realize I just lost some of my daily allotted calories.

I am eating two cut up roma tomatoes with a half inch cube of chevre smeared on top of the tomato to add some flavor. I dribbled some olive oil on it (not even half a tablespoon), and ground some black pepper all over in the hopes that I could somehow trick my body into thinking I was eating a double-decker hamburger with extra cheese and layers of chipotle sauce.  

Earlier today I had (surprise) a roma tomato sandwich with pesto sauce and cubes of fresh avocado. I love it, but I was fantasizing about a handsome, charming man or a pretty, charming woman, holding a tray of pizza slices drenched in full-fat ranch. Delicious, greasy, chewy, cheesy pizza—gulp.

Grad school is going well. I have nothing terribly important to say about the experience or the stress. It is stressful, but what is more stressful is that ominous black screen on my bathroom scale, staring at me from the corner of the room, haunting me and really pissing me off.

Yum. I think this might be my fourth tomato of the day. If only water came in fat-free, sugar-free chipotle, burger flavor. :)