Have some pie

I’ve been thinking for a while about writing about change and the change(s) that I’m going through, or seem to have been going through, over the past few years.

I know, I know, you’re shocked (Shocked!) that the guy that called everyone else an idiot, while misspelling a few words along the way, might have something more to say than just that. Sometimes I even surprise myself.

But, instead of talking about change(s), I decided to talk about pie. Some yummy in my tummy apple pie from Thanksgiving, that I’m still thinking about now.

See, at the end of last year, I wanted to get off my ass and try to become, on a more consistent basis, active. I was looking at turning 45 and the seemingly never ending expansion of my gut, and I decided that enough was enough. Just one helping of enough was going to be enough for me, from now on. Generally. Unless, of course, there’s icing or pie involved, then two helpings of enough will be enough.

I had come to grips with the fact that the mental picture that I have rolling around of my body and what was actually looking back at me from the mirror, have deviated. Significantly. I had also come to grips with the fact that while I’ll never ever look the way I want to (I’ll never put that much effort into anything), but if I feel better about how I feel, that’s going to be a big step in the right direction.

At the beginning of the year, I picked up a heart rate monitor, we purchased a few work out videos, and went at it. I’ll spare you all the details, but suffice it to say, I’ve lost some weight. Not a ton, but enough that I feel better. Clothes fit better, I know I’m more physically fit, and I haven’t really changed my eating habits. Yea! Small victories.

So, along comes Thanksgiving and the attack of the pies. In our extended family, my wife is the pie gal. She makes a bunch of them and everyone gobbles them up. I love her apple pie, and have gone so far as to demand that she make two of them, one for the family, and one just for me.

Let’s just say, that my long term weight gain isn’t a mystery, ok? You don’t put on 50 lbs in 20 years by eating vegetables, drinking diet water and holding your breath, ok?

Anyway. So last night, I’m watching the Pats get their asses handed to them by the Saints (thanks for the help, Jack!), my tummy is starting to rumble, and there is one last piece of pie calling out to me from the kitchen. I mean, it’s pleading with me, whining about how “it’s the last piece of pie and it’s sooooo lonely here in the dark, cold, kitchen” and so forth.

You know what I’m talking about, right? Like we haven’t all been there? It’s a friend called temptation and it’s a face I stare into on a daily basis.

But, what the hell (I rationalized), why am I going through all this hard work, if I can’t enjoy a freaking piece of pie once in a while, right? We’ll just ignore the fact that it’s the same argument that I’ve used every day since Thanksgiving, because who cares about yesterday.

So I gave in and enjoyed the pie. It was delicious. Tomorrow will be another day, change can wait, but it’s always a good time for pie.