Well, I did it again. I bought a package of rice cakes. They caught me in a weak (or possibly strong) moment when my psyche thought it was entirely possible that I would eat them, and not only eat them, but eat them instead of a chocolate chip granola bar. So far, that hasn’t happened.
That’s the power of the new year. When we’re in the middle of our holiday revelry, we placate ourselves by saying that “after the new year,” we will emerge as stronger, more organized human beings. In my case, that was not so. It never is, and after having gone through so many new years, you think I’d know that.
On a particularly upbeat day, I can talk myself into doing the recommended sit-ups. I can clean out the kitchen junk drawer. But I cannot always make myself eat things I do not want to eat.
For me, eating is multi-faceted. First and foremost, it is sustenance. I know that my body needs a reasonable number of calories to keep moving. I also know that my body will function better if I eat more healthy foods than junk. This is textbook.
For this reason, when I am being sensible, I approach eating prescriptively. I had both fruit and juice for breakfast, so I do not need to add fruit at lunch. I had pasta for dinner last night, so it would behoove me to have some kind of fish for dinner tonight. When I add a green vegetable, I feel particularly virtuous.
The problem with that approach is that nowhere in any health prescription does it say “chocolate cake.” That’s where the emotional side of eating comes in. If I am honest with myself, I know that I can only maintain the broccoli-and-brown-rice routine for so long, and then an alarm goes off somewhere deep in my system and I start whining for a piece of chocolate cake. It rises from my core like a legitimate bodily need, right up there with air and water, and no matter how much my logical self tries to deny it, the “need” keeps raising its very persuasive voice.
It’s not always chocolate cake, of course. Sometimes, my body insists on mashed potatoes, but the process is the same. I need them. I really, really need them. This voice does not care that I had mashed potatoes yesterday, or that I know I am going to have mashed potatoes tomorrow. It does not care that I do not have the makings for mashed potatoes in the house. It does not care if a trip to the grocery store would involve getting out in rush hour traffic or in the middle of a thunderstorm. The voice wants what it wants.
I suppose I should be thankful that the voices in my head are just craving chocolate cake or mashed potatoes and do not demand that I throw things into a suitcase and drive to the Florida panhandle to sit in the sun. After enduring the Birmingham Christmas freeze, however, I can feel the sun-siren bubbling up in my chest. If you do not hear from me for a while, you’ll know why.
To keep mental peace, I try to give into the chocolate cake/mashed potato voices when the detour won’t cause too much harm. Preemptively, I’ll have one of my Aunt Dot’s chocolate peppermint patties after a “good girl” lunch. I will whole grain and fiber and dark leafy green myself as much as humanly possible, but I will not, will not eat those rice cakes.
So there.
