It has come to my attention that my morning cup of joe is the cause of all my problems. ALL OF THEM. I know you think this is some slick hyperbolic statement formulated to grab your attention but hear me out….
I workout on a regular basis and I look pretty darn good if I do say so myself. I can hit the gym no problem. But what I can also hit (more fervently, zealously, passionately, lovingly) is a plate of good food. I stand by my declaration that food is one of the greatest of life’s delights. It’s a hard battle not to stuff my face relentlessly, regularly.
But I go through two seasons:
Season One consists of consistent hardcore working out and eating well. I wake up early and run. I weight train in the afternoons. I drink tea and limit my carbs and sugar. I feel good. I feel my muscles when I walk. I bounce with energy when I walk. I tell myself I’d be a complete moron to not be sure to always stay this healthy and feel this good. “I will never go back,” I say. I say this with absolute determination.
Season two. One day I look at my tea and say, “Hmmm I’m kind of feeling like coffee this morning. I’ll get back to tea tomorrow.” From there it’s all shot to shit.
Day two: That coffee was good yesterday. I want some more.
Day Three: You know what’ll go well with this coffee? Some thick fluffy bread with peanut butter.
Day Four: You know what was really good yesterday? That freaking bread was so good. I want some more.
Day Ten: Everything I’ve worked for is slipping like…. a hoochie’s slip. (Wait. Do hoochie’s even wear slips? Does anyone where slips anymore? My simile sucks.)
Day Twenty-Five: You know, why can’t we just live our lives and enjoy it? Why does society have to hold me to these rigid standards? Who dictates beauty anyway?
Day Thirty-Five: I feel like shit. The stairclimber at the gym looks like Mt. Kilamanjaro. The thought of waking up early to go running sets my brain a panic. A dish without rice seems incomplete and I’m ready for bed by 9pm. I’m too lethargic to motivate myself to do what I used to do. I’m mad at myself for creating problems and cranky at everyone else for not somehow fixing them for me!
And when I’m feeling this way, you know what makes me feel so much better about life? A hot cup of coffee with sugar and some french vanilla creamer. Yeeeeah.
What I have learned folks is that that cup of coffee you think is so innocent and lovely, warm and comforting, is a sinister brew waiting to fire your goals, roast your efforts, and brew up a steaming pot of I feel like crap and my life is going nowhere.
Hopefully, one day you’ll step away from the pot (the coffee pot) and steep some tea. You’ll see. Your whole life will fall back into place.
As for me, I’ve recently begun punishing myself with black coffee. Well… with a little creamer. Come on, I’m a human being after all.
6 thoughts on “The Coffee Made Me Fat”
Chuckling. Now, I’m beginning to understand my own transformation. It’s coffee’s fault. I’ll buy that and a cinnamon roll to go with it. (I drink my coffee black, except on the weekends. Then it’s Dunkin Donuts regular, loaded with sugar and cream. Ahhhh!)
You see! I think we’re on to something…
I blame coffee, too. I take it with two creamers and I drink two LARGE mugs in the morning. To compensate, I drink tea with skim milk the rest of the day. And the waistline grows…
Coffee strikes again! We’re in it together sister 🙂
I have tried to be fit and healthy, but, honestly, it is so much easier to sit back and stuff my face full of delicious, wonderful food. Ugggh. I want to wear those shorts I bought a while back from Forever21, I really do, but it’s just so much easier to grab a Starbucks in a pair of leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, lol. And what with winter approaching here, I’ve managed to actually convince myself that extra calories will keep my warmer, anyway. Yeah.
Thanks for the support!!! I hope you enjoy 🙂