The Yo-Yo Heads Back Down

I know it’s trite, the New Year-New You crap, the road to diet hell is paved with New Year’s resolutions business, the sad gym-rejoining on January 4 with all of the other chubbos who want to regain their spare-tire covered inner-waif.

But it’s what I do.  My name is Beth, and I am a Yo-Yo Dieter.

As I never actually learned good eating skills growing up, and am cursed with bad genes and an innate desire for the doughy, creamy, and chocolate covered, I have spent the last twenty years of my life either heading up the scale or down it.  I don’t tend to last too long at either end, particularly the bottom, but, like an alcoholic, I am either in control (going down!) or out of control (back on up!) of my eating.  Unlike an alcoholic, I can’t go cold turkey on food.  At least three times a day I am confronted with dining decisions I need to make, choices that either leave me wanting for more until the next meal or feeling guilty.

What I’d like to do is make the choice to eat healthy, and see where that takes me.  But one of my diet downfalls is hating dieting so much that I want to get it over with as soon as possible.  Hence my history with Atkins, the Three Day Diet, the cabbage soup diet, etc. 

And I want to eat birthday cake on my birthday, and Godiva on Valentine’s Day, marshmallow peeps on Easter, and glasses of wine every weekend.  I hate that my Weight Watcher points are gone by 11 a.m. and I am faced with eating celery sticks and cucumber slices the rest of the day.  I want to eat popcorn at the movie theater and ice cream cones in the summer and not be one of those women who says no to anything with calories.  Granted, they look good.  But what fun is that? 

Maybe making it official and public will help me on my journey.  Maybe not.  Honestly, I’m not too hopeful.  My current size is scary and overwhelmingly far from where I’d like to be.  And I just like food too much.

We’ll see where the new year takes me…and all are invited to my house for a Pity Party this weekend.  I’ll be eating everything in sight clearing my cupboards of the leftover Christmas goodies, and posting pictures of super models, the lovely Valerie Bertinelli, and the latest cringe-inducing Kirstie Alley pics straight  from The Enquirer on my fridge door.