The Alan Parsons Project reminded us that "time... keeps flowing
like a river, to the sea..."
Somehow we always think there will be plenty of time. Well,
so what if I didn't get "back on plan" today. There's always
I want to tell you those tomorrows really add up. They become
the building blocks of hopelessness. After a time, many of us
get the "what difference does it make?" feeling and stop trying
A terrific woman named "Manda" (Amanda Hall) sent us her story last year
and feedback from those who read it told us it really struck a chord with them.
So now we share it with all of you. Manda is 42 years old, married, with one daughter.
Hello LCL subscribers. I'm new to this so please bear with me. I
am hoping that my story might be able to help some of you at least
a little. My thanks to Lora for helping me put this together.
When I graduated from High School in a little town outside Chicago
in the late 70's, I was a thin and popular girl. I was thin because
I starved myself pretty much all the time. It didn't seem that hard
then and my life was really busy all the time so it didn't leave a
lot of time to dwell on food.
I married young. And I got pregnant young. Still not a very unusual
story, but things began to change soon after. Once I'd found I was
pregnant, I didn't seem to be able to voluntarily avoid food anymore.
I craved sweets and ate them usually late at night when no one was
My most shameful moment came when I was about 5 months pregnant.
I'd been up watching TV late and I had a Sara Lea double chocolate
cake stashed in the back of the fridge. I'd already told my husband
I was "cutting out sweets" so I'd planned to dig into that cake when
I was sure he was fast asleep and couldn't "catch me". It was about
2 AM now, so I figured the coast was clear.
Copyright © May 2004 Low Carb Luxury
I went to get the cake and was about to slice it when the thought
came over me, "just eat it all..." What? Where did that come from?
I could hear how absurd it sounded, but I didn't want to leave any
"evidence" — or at least that was the rationale. So I put the entire
cake onto a paper plate, grabbed a fork and began to stuff crumbly
sugary mouthfuls in as fast as I could.
A moment later, I froze. I heard a sound... it wasn't the TV. Was
it the bedroom door? I heard footsteps. Oh my God, my husband was
up and he was going to witness this debacle. I tried to move
quickly, and in reality, I did, but to my perceptions, I was in
slow-motion. My memories of it now seem like that part of the Six
Million Dollar Man where Steve Austin kicks into high gear, yet he's
seen moving so very slowly...
Where to go? I dove under the kitchen table, cake and all. Only the
faint light over the kitchen window illuminated the room, and the
table was in the shadows, so I felt concealed. "Hold very still,"
I told myself.
My husband entered the room, sauntered to the fridge — totally
unaware of the drama that had just taken place — and reached for
a cold can of Pepsi. I could hear the can pop open and could
see him lean back as he drank. He put the can on the counter,
and quietly padded back out of the room and presumably back to
We never spoke of it, and I'm sure it lives only in my memory,
but I will never forget the ludicrous moment I opted to throw my
pregnant body under that table with the cake that was nothing more
than a drug.
But if you're thinking I'll be telling you this was a turning point
when I saw the danger of my chosen path, you'd be wrong. It was
just the beginning.
I miscarried that child. And the grief drove me further into my
need for sugar, sugar, more sugar. I was no longer thin. I grew
in despair as well as in girth. And my marriage began to suffer.
Over the years, I would start many diets and fail them all. Each
time, the weight became more plentiful and the self-loathing grew.
And each time my failures were centered on "this one cookie (or cake,
or donut, or...) can't hurt me. I'll go right back on plan tomorrow."
Of course I never did.
I found the Atkins Diet six years later and knew the first success
I'd had in years. But as I know many of you will relate to, I was
warned it was killing me. And by then, I'd become pregnant again
(with my precious daughter, Rachel-Marie.) So I was told the Atkins
Diet would hurt my baby. And that was all I needed to hear to
The promises didn't stop, though. I promised my husband. I promised
my mother. I promised myself. I was always going to get my life in
gear and get this weight off. I just needed to get past this one
big client at work. Or needed to get past the sale of our home. Or
past training the new puppy. There was always an excuse. And I
wasn't being deliberately deceitful. Somehow, I was waiting for a
miracle. I never knew I had the answer all along. And that the
miracle was in me.
Weeks turned into months. Months turned into years. And now, I
am 40 years old. Still married to the same man. But now, there
are "two of me" — the girl that weighed 122 pounds when she
married is now 255 pounds. Or at least I was only 4 short months
ago. I have lost 32 of those pounds since I acknowledged — like
a drug addict or an alcoholic — that I am addicted to carbs and
sugar. That I cannot have ANY sugar and only a small amount of
the healthiest of carbs.
I was having a talk with my mother yesterday about memories. How
we chose what we remember. How we bolster those we WANT to remember
with THINGS that underscore them. It's why people pay a fortune on
eBay for things of bygone eras. They are tangible reminders. They
are our childhood. Their intrinsic value often matters little.
If you are one of those people on a diet merry-go-round and are
living your life through captured memories of better days, I implore
you to make the commitment now and for life. Make each day NOW
a great memory for later. Time waits for no man (or woman...)