I’m in for quite the telling off

This time of year is just impossible to maintain a healthy diet. While it is certainly easier to eat well during summer, the onset of Christmas means that the alcohol and chocolate is out in abundance. And it’s fair to say that I’m a pig. I have no self control at the best of times and food and booze are no exceptions. I do everything big.

I’ve been seeing a nutritionist for a while now in an effort to balance out my insulin and get my hormones under control. She has given me an eating plan which I stuck to religiously for the first month. She was so proud of me. Of course, it was easy back then because I wasn’t drinking. Nothing but water passed these lips. Then the following month I fell off the wagon. Well, fell is an understatement. I leapt off it with the finesse of one of those ski jumpers that loses control in the air and lands in a pile of fibreglass and padded suit.

The easiest way for the diet policewoman to measure my insulin regulation is by checking the amount of fluid that I am retaining. She does that by calculating my body composition using the fat calipers. I HATE that. You can’t pull your back fat or your tricep fat or your waist fat in. Those pincers snap together and all my secrets and lies are revealed.

Last month I knew things were going to be bad. My figures were half way back up to where I’d started. The demon booze. I explained that that was my problem. She asked me how much I thought I would drink a week and she’d arrange the rest of my diet around it. Being the not-particularly-cunning fox that I am, I said three glasses. What the hell? Three glasses? A week? That’s half a bottle. I’d do that in one sitting – and that’d be a lunch sitting! I knew I was going to have to start doing some careful number crunching. If I missed my morning cheese snack I could squeeze a wine in. If I missed my afternoon protein bar I could probably sneak in another.  I even switched to vodka and soda last weekend so that I didn’t feel guilty because it isn’t full of sugar.

But in the back of my mind I know that it doesn’t really work like that when you’re supposed to be trying to balance your blood sugar.

And today I have to go back and see her again. She’s cut it down to two weekly visits because I’ve made it clear that I can’t be trusted for a whole month. And I feel like a kid that’s been naughty. I know it’s not going to be good.

Damn you, me. You have NO self control.


Well holy hell, wonders never cease. I’m right on target and the diet police gave me the thumbs up. She congratulated me even. It would seem that I’m pretty talented when it comes to manipulating eating to encorporate alcohol. Who woulda thought?


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