The truth can be a bitch

If ever you’ve had to sit down with your inner self and debate matters, then you know that it always depressing to figure out that there’s something wrong and that you want to change it.

Recently during some odd contemplative time, I’ve figured out that I enjoy the taste of food much more than the food itself.

That probably confused some of you, so let me explain.

I find myself in a position where I am overweight, and eventually take steps to rectify this. Steps? Joining a gym, eating healthier, trying to lose weight and “look good” – you know, the kind of good that after you’ve walked by makes women pause and savor the moment, so they can reminisce it later with their friends.

That kind of good.

So you go to the gym twice a week and get worked on for an hour by a trainer. You do all the things you’re supposed to, and nothing helps.

Sure, you drop a few pounds, and tone up some muscle, but there’s still that cuddly cushioning that will damn any man, especially if you can’t touch your toes – not because of the girth, but because of some weird leg inflexibility you probably developed due to major inactivity.

You go to the doctor, hoping that it might be something physiological, but (sadly?) it’s not. You only find out that you’re in pretty good health – but you need to exercise more. Duh. Don’t need years of schooling to tell me that.

So you drop the expensive diet, as it’s not really doing anything, and you go back to eating “health conscious” – salads, and the occasional Chinese take-out of something with tofu.

Then, you sit back one day and realize:

I don’t eat all that much, and when I do, I usually eat pretty decently.

But when I don’t…

I have found that I love the way things taste. The mixing and matching of textures and flavors os something amazing, and I will overeat something that tastes good – just to have some more of the taste, far past the point of sustainment.
I suppose that’s what ancient Greeks had in mind – they wanted to eat more of these delicious items, so off to the vomitorium with you! (I know I’m mixing Greeks and Romans, but I don’t care. Oh, and the fact that the vom is no place for this kind of activity. But it sounds cool.)

So now that I’ve figured that out, what do I do about it? There’s the simple method – go back to a strict diet and deprive myself of all that is delicious – but that’s absolutely no fun, not to mention extremely hard in New York City –
or figure something else out.

Another idea is to try to go the path of “eat only when hungry”, but that’s not healthy, as I’m told that the body will figure that out and store even more fat cells as a result.

There’s not a whole lot of options for someone who doesn’t want to put in piles of effort into shopping for food, preparing for one, and cleaning up the mess.

I’m totally hoping that someone ot there has a good idea – so feel free to shout it, shout it, shout it out loud.