Detox Today Botox Tomorrow

Last month I ran two marathons. (Note the intentional absence of an exclamation point. I used to announce that sort of running feat with pride but as I have aged, I have become more perceptive of other peoples' response to my announcements and I've learned that the vast majority of people are not only unimpressed by one completing a marathon, but honestly find it stupid. Where I would expect an awestruck "Wow," I usually get a perplexed "Why?" I am no longer deflated by this response and accept that only a select few find completing a marathon impressive. Most of those people are, fortunately, related to me.) Back to my point, after five months of marathon training, which involved upwards of 50 miles per week, plus lifting weights, I have become accustomed to eating whatever I want, whenever I want. Aye, there's the rub. Since April I've eaten like a teenage boy and now that my marathons are over I run the risk of morphing into what those teenage boys ruthlessly ridicule. So, to fend off their mockery, I have to alter my eating, and soon. My beloved mother knows me well and has therefore challenged me to a month sans sugar. She invited Keith, Jessi, and my dad to this test of will and the winner gets a financial reward. So, here I sit drinking my Lipton Green Tea and scowling at a plate of fresh-cut veges while my mind continues to drift to the heavily-frosted, homemade, birthday cake sitting in my fridge. (Which brings me to an ethical dilemma, do I let my children polish off the remainder of the cake, overloading their small bodies with sugar, or do I stick it down the disposal, displaying an attitude of waste, as well as disrespect to the baker, who is me. I must consider my position carefully because Halloween candy is going to rain down into this ethical bucket within the week.)

I tell you about my sugar detox program only to warn you that my next few blog entries might be a little more cycnical, rude, or sarcastic than normal. When I don't get my regular dose of candy, I tend to become a little cranky. (Just in time for the election.) The good news is I will not get nearly as crusty as Keith will without his daily Pepsi. The children will still find me the more pleasant of their two nurturing options and, in the end, their hugs and kisses are really the ultimate sugar fix. (Especially if they have trace remains of that cake on their lips.)

Cheers.