After a long, hard summer of the family weight-loss challenge, the pounds are really coming off. “That’s great!” you say. “Whoo hoo!” you enthuse. “You must be thrilled.” you gush. I am. But…
I may have mentioned before that I’m a bit of a pessimist. Here’s the proof. I’ve dropped a whole bunch of lbs. I’m working out. I’m eating right. My heart and lungs are great and I should be doing the happy dance all the way to healthy town. Yet here I am, asking a question first made famous by polka king Frankie Yankovic:
For those not familiar with polkas or Polish food, a kishka is a type of sausage. One line of this song in particular keeps repeating, over and over in my brain. (Don’t ask me WHY I remember the words to this song, which I haven’t heard since high school):
Round and firm and fully packed,
It was hanging on the rack.
Someone stole the kishka,
When I turned my back.
While I’ve been busy dieting, my nice, firm chubbiness has been emptying out. Someone stole my kishka.
Think of… balloons 3 hours after the last kid has left the birthday party…shot elastic in an old pair of underwear…
The sad fact of weight loss past a certain age is that the body just doesn’t snap back the way it once did. The fat cells may cough up their contents, but they don’t leave. They never leave. They wait around, limply, counting the days until you take one teeny, tiny baby step off the straight and narrow diet path. Then ZAP!!! They fill themselves back up almost overnight.
It is ridiculous to think like this – you’re right. I’m not doing it any more. From now on, I’m going to concentrate on my newfound healthiness, and enjoy life. Time to do more traveling. I’ve always wanted to see South America. And I hear they’ve perfected a procedure down there called the Brazilian Butt Lift…