So, I was bad over the holiday weekend. While Larry was good and ate salads, I ate a bacon cheeseburger with fries. At one point, I gorged on Doritos and salsa. And when we went to Wawa (a 7-11 like store), I opted for the 10-inch hero, when I could have easily had a 6-inch. But no. This is what happens when I order for myself. I can not be trusted.
Today, I noticed that there would be leftover food from a client lunch. This automatically meant a platter of cookies, too.
In the past, I've joked that I should hire a trainer or drill sergeant to follow me around all day and slap the bad food out of my hands. Maybe he'd yell "Stop it, motherfucker!" but that could cause disruption at the office. Especially when he'd force me to drop and give him twenty, right there in the kitchen.
So, in my pathetic desperation, I came up with something far more successful than willpower. Physical force.
I went to the bathroom because I had to pee. When I re-buckled my belt, I pulled it as tight as I could without looking like a dork. The resulting pain enabled me to feel full, bloated and fat. So, when that inevitable dessert tray appeared, I wasn't tempted in the least.
They don't tell you that at Weight Watchers.