An Inevitable, Edible Ending | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: An Inevitable, Edible Ending | Previous Challenge Entry
By Diana Smith
04/21/09
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It was a short trip from the bleak home of willpower and discipline to the comfortable abode of indulgence and leniency. For me, it involved driving three miles south to the local ice cream shop. An innocent looking building decked out in browns and pinks with flashes of chrome, it contained gallons of treats that were murder to my diet but balm to my soul.

I had steadfastly avoided the sweet shop for six weeks, intent on maintaining the momentum of my new found dietary regime. Beginning with youthful gusto, everything had seemed easy for the first little while. And then lunchtime hit. The grapefruit and green tea I had fawned over at breakfast were long flushed away and my stomach was screeching in loneliness. The battle had kicked off.

At the start I had been creative, trying to confuse my body with new and exotic flavours. Maybe my metabolism would be lit into flames by the hot peppers sprinkled on my spinach salad. My feet were certainly on fire as I ran for the toilet. Then there had been my dinner plates - heavy with mountains of steamed vegetables, a small cracker that was promoted as bread and a piece of poached chicken that a large ant could have carried away. All of that bounty was washed down by a glass of cold water topped with a sliver of lime. Perhaps I was burning calories just by the vast preparation necessary for these fussy meals. The battle was exhausting.

Granted, I did lose weight in the beginning - a few pounds dropped off in the first week. I suspect that my cat picked them up somewhere on the linoleum as he was looking a tad plumper and much smugger. A Google search for methods to maximize my muscle tone had informed me that a dog was a more weight-loss friendly pet. I pondered such a trade in, but one look at my beloved kitty had squashed the notion. Just the thought of owning a golden retriever made me dog-tired and I rather liked my fuzzy feline – he didn’t care about the scale’s numbers and never asked to share my ice cream. A perfect battle companion.

Thirty days into the diet I awaited a miraculous mental turnaround. A habit was formed after a month’s diligence and repetition right? Apparently not in this case. My hunger grew and the nibbles I prepared as meals seemed to turn a shade grayer. I even dreamt one night that I was eating cardboard off a pretty china plate, complete with lime-flavoured water. Suddenly the brown corrugated mounds began to change shape, forming a fast food French fry bucket that I eagerly sliced it up, mouth watering at the thought of the grease soaked in. A nightmare to be sure – but it was a little depressing that I still fantasized about the forbidden fruits. Surely my body had been broken by now? The sweat I awoke in that morning told me it was time to engage the enemy head on.

With shaking hands, I panted slightly as my car pulled into the lot. Neon signs beckoned and the sinking feeling in my stomach was overpowered by a ferocious growl. I was weak with the thought that all I had endured and fought for had yielded negligible results. My mind had not changed, my tastes had not been tamed and my pant size had barely budged. Defeat for the diet was imminent and the sweet tooth I had too long ignored was on the verge of victory.

A pimpled teenager behind the counter smiled at me like a long-lost friend. Delicious smells wafted into my nose, teasing, luring and promising fulfillment. Fingers reached for the wallet, eyes roaming greedily over the buckets of pink, cream and chocolate brown glee. How to choose a weapon that would destroy my nutritional regime? Death by chocolate, smothered in strawberry, vanquished by French vanilla? Perhaps a scoop of all three?

The battle was finished in mere seconds as I handed over payment and floated to the nearest chair. My tongue stroked the ridges, savouring the longed for but never forgotten sensations. Lips smacked in pure delight and my stomach settled down to purr. Eating in bliss, I was certain the last six weeks had been nothing but a dream and vowed never to put a sliver of lime in water again.

My diet was chased off of the field, a glorious frozen finale to a brutal battle.

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