Where's My F***ing Cake?!

Do you know what I hate? Dieting. Do you know why? Because it sucks. I know this because I've done it many, many times, and I've even lost considerable amounts of weight doing it. It's just that it always comes back, and then some. And do you know why that is? Because I like to eat. Eating is awesome. Food is one of my great pleasures in life. I eat when I'm happy and I eat when I'm sad. I eat to celebrate and I eat to commiserate. I love the anticipation of a great meal. I love to cook. I love sharing food with people who also love to eat. It's a wonderful thing to do, and I indulge in it as often as possible. I have sworn off dieting for the last 10 years, which has been fantastic food-wise, but disastrous waistline-wise. So it is with a heavy heart that I have to accept that the time has come to give it another go. When I say I haven't dieted for 10 years, I really mean I just haven't tried very hard. I've attempted half-arsed “dieting”, which usually consists of promising myself I'll eat less and exercise more while still remaining very casual about it. While I like this system in theory, and I'm sure it works for some, the reality is that it doesn't work for me. I know if I'm actually going to achieve any proper weight loss then I need to do it the hard way: calorie counting and deprivation. I hate those bastards too, by they way. So yeah, here I go again. Oh, and while I'm on the subject, you know what else I hate? Exercise. In fact I think I hate exercise even more than I hate not being able to eat whatever I like. While I know I will have to do some exercise at some point, right now I'm going to concentrate on the deprivation before I add the very special horror of exercise to my list of crap I really don't want to do, but have to.

The reasons for reactivating my dieting efforts are simple. Firstly, it's time. I'm 41 years old and despite having been overweight all my life, have yet to suffer any major illness, weight related or otherwise. I've never spent a night in hospital. Never been to emergency. I don't even get the flu very often. I can only assume this is just dumb luck, because I ain't doing anything right. Being overweight, eating badly and not exercising should put me in the very tip top category for “lifestyle” related illnesses, but so far I've managed to avoid anything serious. Thing is, I know that my luck has to run out sooner or later, and maybe I should do something before it becomes a genuine problem. But that's not even the biggest factor in all this. My chief motivation is wanting to travel, something I haven't done since I turned 30. Now, financial constraints aside, I feel my biggest travel obstacle is my arse. Literally. My arse will have to be considerably smaller if I'm going to squeeze it into a reasonably priced plane seat. And as I have been promised much amazing food when I get to the other side, I feel it is finally a good enough reason to step away from the cake and make an effort, if only so I can travel to the other side of the world and eat up a storm!

I should warn you now that this may or may not become a regular blog theme. It's not something I would usually write about, and I am so not a fan of those dieting blogs where someone writes about their “journey” and it's all terribly emotional and uplifting and life changing. Fuck that shit. Given that I have a pretty good idea who the handful of people who read this are, I feel fairly safe and comfortable sharing my dieting hardship here, should anyone care to read it. Writing helps me get my frustrations out, and posting it on the internet helps keep me nice and angsty, so any diet blogs will largely consist of swearing and complaining. I also think it's a way of being more accountable, even if it's only to myself. For now, as much as I know it will suck, I'm actually looking forward to it. I will enjoy my final week of eating and then I will probably enjoy a couple of weeks, maybe a month, of feeling virtuous and healthy before proper diet grumpiness kicks in. That's when the real fun begins.