I’m already at the age when I actually can’t remember my age. I usually just ask my husband. He’s better with numbers than I am. He does the quick arithmetic in his head: ‘okay, you were born part way through 1989, so 2013 minus 1989 is… carry the one and…’ (Presto!) ‘You’re 23!’
Puh-thetic, isn’t it?
I probably don’t want to think about the number of years I am. All I need to tell me that I’m not 18 anymore is that the people at the liquor store let me buy stuff, oh, and my metabolism is slowing to the pace of a particularly unmotivated turtle.
So.. I’ve been trying to do more cardiovascular exercises and I also started using My Fitness Pal yesterday. It lets me track my food intake and my physical activity and calculates things like calories, protein, & sodium. It went fine until the end of the day when I was almost out of my allotted calories for the day. Being unused to only 1200 calories per day, I turned into a major grump and was fantasizing about eating all the cake I could fit in my stomach.
My husband, who was on the receiving end of my mood, suggested that I work my way down to 1200 calories instead of going cold turkey. Is food an addiction like any other? Food sends happy signals to my brain and helps me feel better if I am depressed. By reducing my food intake and eating less carbohydrate-packed foods, I’ll be reducing my exposure to a drug of sorts.
Boy. Now I want a baked potato something fierce.
*sigh* Cottage cheese and a hard boiled egg it is.