On Wednesday nights for most of this past summer, I’ve gone on bike rides with a group of friends. We ended those rides at a local Mexican restaurant, where we ate dinner and drank 99-cent margaritas. And I would eat at least a basket of chips with salsa all by myself.
I’ve been made more mindful of eating too much after going to a community meeting last week in Ames. And some buddies were ribbing me Tuesday about the half a pound I lost earlier this year during the Y’S Weigh, a contest that is gearing up to start again in November. Based on my poor showing the last time, I’m not sure my friends will keep me on their team this time.
The ribbing has put me in the mood to start my own personal Y’s Weigh a month early. It’s even made it easier to get up the past two mornings before my alarm clock went off.
So I’ve pushed myself back to the Y. More importantly, I have not eaten in between meals. This is an accomplishment for me. But the chips Wednesday night were a big test. For the most part, I avoided them. Well, I ate three of them — chips, not baskets of chips.
I did drink two of the margaritas, but Rome wasn’t built in a day, right?
This small showing of willpower pleases me because the past week of my life has been strange. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. And for one night, at least, I chose to not shovel chips into my mouth instead of actually thinking about the things that have been bugging me.
For me, that was a victory … one chip at a time.
Brome Hill 