The weekend began with a step aerobics class at my gym. Yes, people still do step aerobics. I consider it a classic workout, rather than a comforting throw back to the 80s. At least we stepped to a modern beat rather than anemic hits from baby boomer glory days.
Saturday was my fifth straight day working out, so I didn't have a whole lot of umph, but the pounding music and synchronized sweating carried me through, not to mention the promise of a Peet's decaf capp. after the class.
Saturday evening brought a potluck for parents at our home. Potlucks, as recently as a year ago, were a challenge for me. Something about novel food arriving at random intervals seemed to awaken my inner hunter-gatherer. I felt compelled to stockpile (in my stomach) enough food to survive the winter.
Fortunately, a little pre-meditation and a lot of practice has turned the focus of these events from stockpiling to socializing. On Saturday, I was only medium hungry as the evening began, however, some very attractive Vietnamese fresh spring rolls caught my eye. I decided I would prefer to wait until more food arrived to begin my meal, but my children had other ideas. As my daughter grabbed her second of the limited supply, I confiscated her roll and decided to make it mine. That way there would be more left for everyone else (that's logical, isn't it?).
My son grabbed one as well, but after a bite or two decided he didn't like it, so, as his leftovers are a staple of my diet, I ate his as well.
After another 45 minutes or so, I made my sweep of the food, taking modest portions of roasted veggies, salad and a few steamed shrimp with cocktail sauce. This sat well with me, and I added only a cracker with a veneer of blue cheese and a piece of prosciutto wrapped asparagus to round out my repast. About 1.5 glasses of red wine, and a couple glasses of sparkling water completed my evening's intake.
By party's end, I was officially hungry, but couldn't be bothered with my usual cereal, so I ate a convenient piece of Acme whole wheat walnut bread, coated it with a sliver of butter, and soon collapsed into bed.
My hopes for a Sunday morning run were dashed after I awoke to discover my body resisted being vertical, let alone in motion. It was time for a rest day anyway, so I luxuriated in bed until my son pulled me out.
Lunch consisted of some of San Francisco's finest Chinese food, which is very fine indeed. A small bowl of potsticker soup and sauteed veggies with steamed tofu and brown rice. I went easy on the potstickers because I wanted to have a light meal. 15 minutes after the meal, it was clear I had overachieved on light, as I was hungry, but I made it a couple more hours, to the middle of a cupcake making extravaganza.
In stark contrast to the baking efforts of my youth, I don't eat when I bake (which I do about twice a year on the eve's of my children's birthdays). Nevertheless, I seem to have a "batter on the fingers, fingers in the mouth" reflex. It's only the burst of sweet on my tongue that awakens me to my actions. I wonder if this will ever fade?
By mid-afternoon I'm ravenous, so I enlist another slice of walnut bread with butter. It's barely noticed by my stomach, so I add about 2 inches of a banana. A cup of rooibos tea with milk. Nope. Another piece of walnut bread, this time with a modest wedge of goat's milk brie. An apple. This is officially looking like "a lot of food", which offends my demure sensibilities (I blame Disney princess movies and Barbie dolls for these).
The memory of harsh judgement for my excesses echoes through my psyche, and I happily let it pass. My hunger exonerates me. Virtue is still mine, at least for today.
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