It’s 6am, late into my week four of this silly goal. I play around with my alarm and wonder what it says about me if I snooze. The mental debate at this hour is deafening…
…what message are you sending your brain if you don’t stick to the plan?
…you’re a fyyyne ass woman, you don’t need to run
…one day of sleep won’t hurt
…your followers on IG will ask about today’s update
…you can claim that it is rest day
…it was rest day yesterday
…your mum didn’t raise a quitter
…but isn’t she supportive of my decisions?
…sigh! It’s raining
…so what? It’s just water
…the guy you like loves your ass
And with that, I jump off the bed and straight to the running gear that I strategically laid at the edge of the bed.
Fuck these men we like and the desire we have to keep their eyes on us. But men aside, I need to keep at this goal because my thighs are beginning to look like the chapos i’ve been gorging on whilst in Corona mode.
There’s a kibanda near me that sells the kind of chaps that are thin, layery and floury. The type that is too thin to chew so you breathe them in instead. I’m crazy for this chaps and so lately, i’ve been passing by to get some and finding reasons to eat them all day.
I’ve had them as:
A ‘pass by the fridge snack’
The snack before lunch
As a chaser to my making dinner
Even as an accompaniment while I sip wine
They are so small that on their own they don’t count as food.
I’m not proud, but it’s good to know oneself and there a tiny fact about me…
I do not have food discipline. I do not know how to pace food and stretch it for days, unless, of course, it’s not cooked. Sometimes, I will swallow *** number of chaps in one seating, or cook a two day meal so deliciously that I will eat all at once.
I once bought a pack of Java coffee and it was attached to their cookies as a promo. Since I don’t have a sweet tooth, I reasoned that i’ll use it to serve on the side for guests with their tea, so it stayed unopened for a while.
One cold and rainy morning, after I had made the 100th cup of coffee, I picked up the pack of cookies to stare at it while I sipped away. I read the ingredients, marveled at the beauty of the pack, checked the spelling of each word just to see if someone messed up, then put it back in the pantry and patted my back for my, seemingly, discipline.
But like sirens in the sea who sing to men on ships to lure them to the ‘promised naked thigh’. The pack of cookies sang alluringly, a Ballad of Boy II Men, acapella of Backstreet Boyz, sooner or later, I passed by the kitchen from the loo and opened the pack, I thought, I’ll have two now, two another day and another day it’ll it ends.
Two cookies a day aren’t bad, right? I won’t grow elephantine hips just from two a day, right?
Right!. So I dived in…
3 hrs later….
I neatly flattened the once full pack of Macadamia cookies, folded it into halves and quarters and slowly headed to the bin completely freezing out the fact that I ate all the cookies.
Playing dead to the screaming voice inside me, scolding me for lack of food discipline and ignored the conversation that was happening in my head whilst my other self justified that weight is just a number
That everyone in Covid times is bound to gain a little
That who cares anyway, single hood seems to have unpacked and currently resides in the other room and who knows when it’s leaving so no one is going to notice the food pregnancy bulge that was growing, unwaveringly.
But it wasn’t that long ago when I was so huge that parts of me were left out when I looked in the mirror and the girl that stared back was sad and depressed about failing at the thousands of diets she had tried.
Body image has plagued me since childhood. I’m heavier than I look and it doesn’t help that food seems to go sideways every-time I eat. So, naturally, after all the chaps, cookies and sugary chasers to my endless drinking, I’ve added a teensy weeny bit weight and that is not a feeling I want back.
So, run, I must.
I’m not a fan of the boob slapping face activity called running, so I dread joining the pack of runners, joggers, quick walkers, casual walkers, crawlers so while dressing up, I try to psyche myself up with uplifting mantras…
Running is healthy
I’m working for the body I want
Running clears my mind
Runner’s high is better than gin high (LIES!!)
The sights however make it bearable. One time I spotted a chick ahead of me quick walking, it looked odd yet interesting. Imagine walking at a running speed. Forced to clench thighs, ass, waist and move, the move is similar to a duck’s walk.
Normally, while walking, there’s an ass dance, I don’t know how mine looks like but I damn enjoyed looking at hers, and how pronounced it was, I slowed down to a slow jog just to stare at her ass dance, it looked intentional, like she wanted all eyes on her behind.
Go ahead and judge me, but have you seen a female in motion? (I maintain that I was a man, in my previous life)
As I laced up my shoes, I remembered the chaps I had in my fridge and if I should make a rolex later. The Rolex had become my reason for living, I’ll have for breakfast, lunch, dinner. I even have my own special recipe, sautéed onion, yellow and red peppers, topped with a cheese slice, wrapped in egg, all wrapped up in a chapati, served with a slice of avocado.
Mmmh mmmh, the gooey deliciousness of that meal, damn!
I would love to know what the guy who came up with the rolex, was thinking, was he dreaming about the possibility of brunch but all he had was a chapo and egg? Was he at a buffet and the only starch left was a chapo but the chef told him that a he could get an omelette with that? Was he at his girl’s house and all she had was a pack of chapos and eggs in the fridge? (This is what constitutes the content of my fridge these days, btw)
Whatever the case, it was genius!
I’ll run a bit longer today, just so I can have two rolexes later. Perhaps double the usual distance since Glovo was here yesterday and…
.…If i may ask, once Glovo delivers a BOGOF burger. Is it normal to, finish the two burgers…in one seating…by yourself??
No??!! I thought so too.
It’s 6.40am and I can’t put this off anymore.