The battle of the bulge

I really got down and dirty today. Cleaning. Scouring. Distracting.
Over the course of my life, I have fought a long, drawn out, seemingly endless battle. My weight. It's up, it's down, I come to terms with it, I get furious and decide to give up--a sordid love affair if you will, as it's always on my mind, teasing and taunting, the forerunner for my attention.
After a weekend of trying not to acknowledge some powerful feelings of inadequacy, I finally had a face-off. Bulge, yes, you. I want you gone. I mean it this time. We're over. I am sick to death of you and this on again, off again relationship. I mean it! Easier said than done though, right? Ohhh, always right. I woke up this morning after my fervent promises to myself yesterday that I was starting anew. I would wake up and eat only healthy things, slowly. And then I'd go for a run so intense, you'd think an imaginary soldier was behind me with an official order to shoot me if I dared fumble and claim I was out of breath. Maybe I'd do sit-ups until my flab quivered. (No abs on this girl--not yet anyway).
However, promises made to oneself the night before while somberly eating what felt like my last cheesy steak quesadilla, are always easier to work through in the mind.
The moment, and I do mean the moment my eyes opened this morning, it was if I had woken up in rehab. My mind was already regretting the decision for betterment. What have I done, I thought? I have cinnamon rolls in the fridge! I can't start dieting with cinnamon rolls in the fridge. It's too great a sacrifice! I was in an instant panic warring with myself over whether I should even get out of bed. Could I really have a stand-off with the cinnamon rolls and come out the victor? I wasn't sure. I was rather petrified at the prospect.
Lucky for me, before I could even make it to the kitchen, a very wise friend's words came into my head helping arm me for battle. If you don't do this, you must not want it bad enough, otherwise you'll just do it.
It was enough. I didn't even open the fridge and look at the damn things. I instead made my low-fat, whole grain, hardly-any-taste waffles topped with bananas and strawberries. Yeah, yeah, sounds sorta good or something. It wasn't hot, gooey frosting topped cinnamon goodness. But a small battle was won and that was a start.
To say the rest of the day was just as smooth of sailing, well, this wouldn't be the battle of a lifetime without some choppy seas now would it?
I managed to get the oven preheated later and the pan out for the cinnamon rolls, and then quickly came to my senses and bolted for the door for my power run worthy of the Biggest Loser. A.K.A a brisk walk with a few (or one) bursts of jogging, followed by gasps of outrage at how difficult running actually is!
Once I got home, as any good addict would do, I contemplated the food in the house, feeling acute pangs of loss at what I wasn't eating and realized I needed a distraction.
The house didn't particularly need a whole lot of cleaning, but I also have another tool up my sleeve. An eye for the missed mess. This tool has been acquired and honed in part from years of cleaning in a house of 12 with my mother chiming in after a solid clean-athon in which I thought I'd done a helluva job, "You call this clean?! Look again!" The second part would be a small case of OCD, maybe acquired from the first part. Who can really know for sure?
I started on the kitchen and wound my way through, getting a solid beating on the stovetop, the counters, the fridge, the rugs... cleaning in a way that would make my mom more than a little proud of the lessons she imparted on overlooked mini-messes. I stood back admiring my handi-work thinking, you haven't lost your touch Sturos.
And I'd mostly forgotten about the cinnamon rolls. Even as I pushed them aside to scrub shelves. Why didn't I just throw them away, some might ask? Well, it is day one (or day 218936214387246 in a long list of attempts) but still. I'll get there. I need to save something to do tomorrow right? Throw away cinnamon rolls. Noted.
Ohh, this is going to be a brutal attack, but I have prepared my defenses. Don't you worry, those blasted cinnamon rolls have nothing on me!