At long last, I have accepted the sad, sad truth. I have fought it hard, but it is time to give up the dream.
The dream. Ah, the dream. The dream that I could exercise like a fiend and eat whatever the heck I wanted. A lot of it. And whatever the heck I wanted was not salad. Or cucumbers. It was rich, thick chocolate in its many delicious forms.
It does work. It works very well for awhile... and it is splendiferous... and then it doesn't. It doesn't because I get sick or I get injured or both. 'Cause the reality is that my lame old middle-aged body can't take that kind of exercise. I'm not Dara Torres or.... (insert awesome athletic 40 year old here.) I'm just not made that way. Alas. So I need to kiss this absurd eat-like-Michael-Phelps fantasy goodbye and grow up.
So sad. I love you chocolate cake. I'll always love you. (Insert sappy Celine Dion song here)
Yes, salad, I heard you. I'm coming. (Eye roll)