Week 2: Kate vs. The Full English Breakfast
When dieting, there is no moment more encouraging than feeling a difference in your body from one week to the next. In most cases, watching that haunting number on the scale shrink to a smaller, more agreeable number may be the only motivation necessary for one to keep up the hard work. Since my arrival in London, however, I’ve had a difficult time finding a scale that caters to the American system of measurement, and with my regrettable math skills it’s been quite the challenge to convert kilograms into pounds. So because a scale is not a viable option, I need to use alternative methods to track my progress over the next 6 months. Therefore, for the remainder of my stay, I’ve decided to use my clothing as a gauge. Unfortunately, I won’t have a scale to see those numbers go down, but I will (hopefully) feel my clothes get looser. And call me zealous, but in one week I think I already can see a difference! I have more flexibility in my just-washed-jeans, and my favorite patent leather “rib” belt has become the waist belt it was always meant to be!
Feeling and seeing the physical differences also makes an emotional difference. In just one week, I can tell that I’m happier and more confident than I was at my arrival in London. Even getting out of bed is easier (though I could possibly attribute that to my recent boost in energy).
In light of all this perceived success, I thought it would be permissible to join a friend of mine for brunch on Sunday.
Eggs and sausage and bacon! Oh My! No wonder it’s called a “Full English Breakfast” – that, I imagine, is exactly how you leave: feeling uncomfortably and miserably full. England may not be known for its cuisine, but there is at least one meal they do quite well. And that, my Skinny friends, is breakfast.
That fateful Saturday morning I stared longingly at my friend’s meal like a child in Willy Wonka’s factory and watched as she indulged in a smorgasbord of brunch-y goodness. My eyes darted between her plate and my pitiful, formerly favorite breakfast of scrambled egg whites with veggies. Now I am responsible, consenting adult. And adults sometimes have to make choices. But the moment I saw that juicy cylinder of salty-sausage glory on her plate, my decision to reward myself with my own order had been made. With a side of syrup.
Crap.
I did regain some control by cutting the sausage and leaving half the order off to the side, so it wasn’t a complete disaster. But the whole scenario bothered me. I was doing so well, had such amazing support, and in a matter of seconds I let the impulsive glutton inside get the best of me. What happened?
In our last phone meeting, I admitted this slip up to Tanya. Sometimes I feel like talking to her is like going to Confession: you can’t lie, and you always leave with a way to redeem yourself. Maybe it wasn’t a “Hail Mary,” but her advice felt far more profound. She said, “If you can’t be a good influence on others, don’t let them be a bad influence on you.”
Maybe my order couldn’t persuade my friend to go for healthier option, but why would I let her unhealthy choice persuade me? When we are in the company of others who are indulging, we feel it justifies our own indulgence. Well, it doesn’t. That being said, there will be times (such as above) when I simply cannot resist temptation. Tanya’s suggestion for moments of weakness? Portion control! Cut your splurge down the middle and put one half to the side.
Don’t get me wrong – it’s one thing to make the conscious decision to indulge. If that’s your choice then enjoy it! But it’s a completely different thing to be the consequence of another’s influence. You can’t always be the hero, but you never have to be the victim.
Here is a metric converter site that I use when I need one
http://www.worldwidemetric.com/metcal.htm
It is very easy
Jan
Rachel's Tweets: @ssmrachel
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