I gained a bit of weight. Then some more weight, but hey that’s what happens when you drink rum and coke and decide that the only way to stave off a hangover is to eat a plate of fries and add some fried chicken tenders and since it’s happy hour, bring the nachos over, dear waiter, por favor.
I’ve been eating better, but without a real diet plan that smart people opt for but I am not one of those smart people. I’ve been sticking to a mostly low carb, high-protein regimen. I’ve been making smoothies in the morning with whey protein powder, handfuls of spinach and frozen strawberries. Then I go look at myself in the mirror and punch the reflection, weeping, “WHO ARE YOU, RAMONA?!”
It’s strange when you say no to alcohol, how much alcohol I realize is around me, available to me, an adult who is wayyyyyy over 21. On July 4th, I thought about having a beer, or seventeen, just because it was hot and I was celebrating so why not? But I eyed the selections at 7-11 and not even the Budweiser tall boys looked appealing so I went for a sugar-free slurpee instead. Then I went home, locked myself in the bathroom and punched that sweaty, redfaced image staring back at me. I have to say, I need to accept these changes because this mirror-punching thing is getting expensive.
I fear weight-gain because I spent so much time as a fat teenager and I’m smart enough now to know how to keep from morphing back into the Mona of Yore. Mona of Yore already sounds like a heavyset woman who spends most of the day milking cows or lifting bales of hay or selling gargoyle-shaped incense holders at street fairs. Do NOT WANT.
As a teenager, I did not work out. I was into books and speech and debate and Kids in the Hall and 90s-era Comedy Central and making internet boyfriends and being smarter than everyone else.
I finally shed the weight in college and learned what it was like to actually move and sweat and fit into clothing with only one number on the tag, a single number that didn’t appear because I scratched the other one out.
So now, I’m an adult who is trying to make better decisions, especially when the tasty bad decisions are the ones that will bring about my last day on earth, the day when I enter Forever 21 and the young, gum-smacking sales assistant says, “Are you shopping for your daughter?”