I like cake. I eat it all the time.
I create opportunities to eat it.
I eat so much I feel unhealthy. My clothes don’t fit.
I tell myself I shouldn’t eat so much cake.
Then I wake up hungry.
I try to resist. When I think of it. Grudgingly.
I’m still overweight and unhealthy.
I decide to not eat cake. I hate my decision and I think about it all the time.
I set a goal. A week with no cake. Two weeks. A month.
Thankfully, there are loopholes. A birthday! A holiday! A special occasion!
The day after a special occasion!
The following week!
Pretty much all the time.
I hate my weight. I feel unhealthy. I watch guys my age running marathons and hiking the Appalachian Trail. I get winded walking to the fridge.
I decide to begin exercising. Next Monday.
I eat cake Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.
But Monday morning I exercise.
Forty eternal minutes. I hate it. I dread Tuesday morning.
I exercise Tuesday morning. I dread Wednesday.
I exercise Wednesday morning. I dread Thursday.
I exercise Thursday morning. I hate it, but not as much.
Friday brings a party. There’s cake.
I don’t eat any. If I’m doing all this wretched exercise, I’m not wasting it on a piece of cake.
Monday morning I exercise. I hate it. But I do it again Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday.
And all the next week. And the next.
My pants fit.
I play some racquetball.
I like mornings. Not the exercise part, but the discipline. And the comfortable pants.
I don’t think about cake. Much. And I certainly don’t eat any.
Someone lands a slab of German Chocolate Cake on my desk. It weighs five pounds and I can smell it from the lobby.
I give it away.
Was it hard to do? Not really. Unless you count the weeks of cultivating a new love.
But that no longer feels hard either.