Depriving yourself of something you enjoy

My friends are all fasting and I don’t want a bar of it. Unless it’s made of chocolate. It feels good not to be a slave to cravings and even better when you can finally reintroduce them into your life. Once a year my husband and I go a few weeks without a regular foodie treat – be it coffee, sugar, alcohol, dairy, bread or meat.

It was tough the time we went without all of the above at once. Not that this was the intention, but I lost no weight. In fact, I even gained a little. Rats, I guess I don’t need to try that again.

We do a ‘fast’ most years as a type of cleansing for the mind, spirit and body. It’s a reminder that I have a choice on what goes into my body and of the impact certain foods have on my energy and mood.

I’m stoked with myself afterwards but I dread the onset every time. It’s like going for a run; the hardest part is putting your shoes on.

I’m impressed by the efforts of friends and wha¯ nau to consistently eat wisely, the hard-outs – the paleos, vegos and non-alcos of my social circle. To me, there’s little worse than depriving yourself of something you enjoy while others partake in it around you. Especially now the Christmas parties have started.

Yet people do it. I’m a somewhat reluctant one of them.

I’m 31 yet my skin is convinced I’m still a teenager. What an oversight for mother nature to allow pimples and grey hair to coexist.

I gave up sugar recently, that didn’t help. I attempted to come off gluten to see if it might make a change, I’m still waiting to find out.

I was in the cereal aisle of the supermarket, choosing a GF muesli that looked simply like rice puffs of air. I’m going gluten-free, I tell myself. Then I notice par-baked dinner rolls on special.

I could try cutting dairy from my diet, but there’s the issue of coffee though.

I have heard horror stories of women battling acne until they reach menopause. Menopause! Quick, pass the Isotane.

I was under the impression skin, weight and body type were predominantly down to genetics. This idea was partly due to my teenage metabolism allowing me to hoover a bag of chocolate bars and then confidently don a sash and bikini for the Miss Teen Taranaki pageant.

Age and wisdom have taught me that nutrition will catch up with you as age does. From observation and experience, the food habits of the thin also tend to be generally healthier than those who struggle with weight.

After two pregnancies, I’m under no illusion that making and carrying a small human in my belly will have some lingering impact on my size and shape. I don’t still want to look pregnant two years after the fact though.

This year I started ballet classes with my former teacher, New Plymouth dance stalwart Val Deakin. A couple of lessons in and she studied me closely, pointing at the area where my abdominal muscles used to be: ‘‘this isn’t working’’.

As my youngest was nine and a half pounds at birth, I’m not surprised my muscles split and left the building. Here’s hoping it’s not too late to get them back again.

When I was entering parenthood, I was warned of the temptation to nightly collapse on the couch after the kids were in bed, with a bottle of wine or a tub of ice cream or both. I can see why.

But a humble cuppa with a biscuit shouldn’t be too much to ask? Not after a day spent intercepting the contents of the plastics drawer from a toddler with a decidedly good arm on him?

But apparently it is.

Hubby introduced us to a new fast which sounds dead easy. The emphasis is on sounds.

The plan is to eat dinner early then consume nothing but water until breakfast the next morning, to boost metabolism and muscle mass. You know, the habit everyone was in before electricity was invented.

I’m three weeks in and I’ll be lucky if I have managed one successful night.

I like the idea of creating healthy habits and not being a slave to cravings. But being mindful of nutrition all day bores me. Yes, nutrition is important but so is enjoying life. The thought of weighing salads and measuring protein portions, as some are in the habit of doing, sounds like a food obsession in itself.

When I came off processed sugar recently, I was smugly proud at turning down pieces of cake at social gatherings. Though loath to waste good food, I would pass it straight into the waiting hands of my one-year-old. It would have been better if I had eaten it myself.

Leading up to the fast, I thought about food more than I would on a normal day. I generally consider what I’ve eaten earlier before I say yes to a cookie, and then I move on with my life.

Occasionally, a half-eaten packet of biscuits will call from the pantry while I’m writing and I have to go and make it three-quarters empty. And at mums’ groups, it’s rude not to try a piece of everything on the table, I tell myself.

My answer is to limit the occasions when we have biscuits in the house, and the number of coffee groups we attend in a week.

There, problem solved.

The thought of weighing salads and measuring protein portions, as some are in the habit of doing, sounds like a food obsession in itself.