Yesterday was a doozy. My workout went great. Then I had to get dressed and head out to a indie music festival. Funnel cakes, italian sausages, french fries, quesadillas, and elephant ears. I had a shake, then I took a shake. I had my likeness. I got there ready to cave. Giving myself permission to crave. I knew I would let my likeness cheat as it was her first festival so she would have to try the festival food of course, play the rigged games, win a cheesy toy duck, and have tired feet.
We bumped around listening to blues bands and cute rocker girl from Indianapolis. There were tons of pretty girls in tight jeans to keep me distracted. It was nice to watch my daughter stuff herself on cheat indulgences fully aware of the fact that she should savor that moment " 'cause daddy don’t eat like this everyday!"
Before I left, for the festival, craving to the gills, I put a fitted tee on, It fit! I put the pants on, less belly hanging over the belt! I yelled, “Shiiiiiit, I’m staying on this muthafuckin’ diet. I didn’t look like this in High School!” I wear a size “High School” in shirts and pants. I went, craving less. Then all the craving went when I arrived and saw muffin tops, belly flops, swollen ankles and Hov-a-rounds. I thought…“I am not hungry for that shit.”
I remembered and could relate to the lack of mindfulness about my body. I didn’t want to return to that. My likeness offered me fries and her fingers covered in fake butter, white sugar and cinnamon. I told her, “No, boo boo, I’m good, get it in.” I felt like King Brotha’Man because I turned down fries and fried insulin. I Beamed. I had my choc-o-berry shake, fish pill and was satisfied. I survived it. I thought I would totally fail. I walked away from Obes-i-polooza empowered and ready to continue to retrieve my Body from MY Self.
As I talked to my landscaper, today, all he did was stare at my arms. I giggled to myself and touted, “You can not have tickets to the gun show, son! VELOCITY, BITCH!” Clearly I am all turnt up about this new endeavor. I look at myself constantly. V is also for vanity, too. That’s fine. Testosterone is chicken soup for the soul.
Gratitude l3G10N and Linedrive for your endearing comments.