Battle of the Bulge: Get Right Back on that Wagon

"I loathe myself," I groan.

Pesach already has the glamorous image of diet-killer. Two Pesachs ago I would have been able to stay in control (I like to think) had my siblings not moved in, bearing cakes, side-dishes, and duck. God, I love duck.

Usually I avoid an official dinnertime after skirt-straining lunches, but despite the protesting fullness of my belly I had still lurched over to the gefilte fish, chicken soup with homemade egg lokshen, sweet chicken, and zucchini kugel. Even after those large lunches, I couldn't seem to stop myself from nibbling; strawberry fluff, sponge cake, grapes, melon. Nothing here has terrible ingredients, but the quantity was killing me.

Since I was hit with a sinus infection post-holiday, I didn't get dressed for two days. When I finally did, and looked down in horror at my protruding stomach, I nearly wept.

It would seem rather obvious that my usually rigorous self-control has taken a hit. Acknowledged. But all is not lost. 

I did have a glimmer or two of discipline. I wouldn't touch the not-made-from-scratch pareve ice cream (primarily consisting of non-dairy whip, meaning, partially hydrogenated oil), soda, juice, store-bought seven layer, nor my niece's cake made with vanilla pudding mix. If my body can't recognize the ingredients, then I won't consume it. 

My second foray into self-control was when late in the afternoon on the last day of Pesach, everyone, from adult to child, was munching merrily on buttered matzah. If there is any torture that can be done to me, it was watching and smelling that (Pesach matzah in my household has such a high value that it has the same worth as hard currency). But I didn't give in. I waited until the next day, and I had it by lunch. I was able to delay gratification. 

Even small efforts like these, which seemingly have no benefits, keep the self-control muscle in practice. 

I have heard others despair and abort eating plans due to one slip. But as science has proven, weight is gained over time, not because of one food fiasco. 

I can attest, despite a two-day gorging, that since I watched myself carefully for the next few weeks, I was back to where I began before yontif.   

Don't think after one day of gluttony, "It's over, the diet is dead, hello poundage!" What was gained over a two-day, or a week-long, indulgence is minor compared to abandoning good habits altogether. Sure, I may have been jiggling following my habit-abandonment, but with just a few weeks of awareness, I was back in the game, belly gone. 

So arise! Take a walk around the block! Put down that spoon!

We shall overcome!