This is a never-ending battle and it seems that just when you think you are winning, the defenders of the Waist Line come at you with a new weapon. How is it that your body is able to pull in the reserves just as you are winning the war?
First there was the holiday. I had it all worked out, my strategy was perfect. I was on the winning side for six months and had managed to destroy 42 of their 1lbers. That was three stone less to battle with. So, taking a break and leaving the battle field for a week wasn’t going to matter. It would take forever for the Waist to recuperate and rally that much ammunition. I’d be back in seven days and they wouldn’t stand a chance. Or so I thought.
Ok the week lasted a bit longer as I was kidnapped by Mark and whisked off for another three-day break. I came back raring to go.
I was weak, what can I say, the Waist Line threw everything at me. There were cream cakes, meals out, the movies, I was faced with crisps and cheese and chocolate. The opposition was winning. Then the World got in on the act and threw in a few mega bombs, car accidents, mental pausy, Marks lump, but that’s another story.
Finally, the Waist Line brought in the mercenary, The Christmas Massacre. He was ruthless and almost totally annihilated me.
With injuries and ill health running through my camp, it was all I could do to think about my Waist Line. He was everywhere. It seemed his magician was at work 24/7, inside my head. “EAT, SCRUMMIE, MUST EAT.”
I was no fool, I had defeated this foe before on many occasions, from an early age I have fought similar battles. There have been battles and there have been skirmishes. There have been many underhand tactics. The Waist Line brings in the Fish and Chips, I bring in the Diet Food Replacement Drinks. The Waist Line brings in Chocolate Eclairs, I bring in the dancing shoes. We have both met our match and today we stand and face each other square on.
This battle will end one way or another, but will I win, or will I just give in and let the Waist Line take over the territory?
Not without a fight, not without letting this enemy know that as long as I can, I will fight with everything I have.

That’s my diet. Or to tell the truth, the story of my life with everything I do. It was the same with my first degree. I would image the assignments lined up with pitch forks, all in order, the one due in the soonest, big and bold, looking like a farmer with a piece of straw hanging out of his mouth and wearing a trilby. I had to be a stoic defender of academia and fight to get past the first page. I had to wrestle through the assignments defences, the next episode of Star Trek Next Generation, the elaborate meal I was going to create with a packet of Smash and 4oz of dry cheese, and the bed, which was my assignments biggest weapon. Once I had battled these and got hold of the papers, I would then set about deciphering the code. For those of you who have never taken Management Accounting, let me explain. It was as though the enemy was defending its biggest weapon, hidden in a question. Back then there was no interweb, nor reference library online. It was all solid ground work, which meant text books and midnight reading. The question could lead you on a false path and you would be lost for days before the battle commenced, at which point you were tired and irritable. The few allies you had, namely your fellow students had their own battles and like commanders of different regiments in the same army we all faced our foe and battled in different fields. Some of us lost and some of us made progress. It was a war of three years and one I stupidly took on again several years later by returning to university.

There have been other battles and it seems I have a vivid imagination. I tackle everything as though I am going to War. From cleaning the kitchen to driving through London. Although I think everyone drives through London in full battle dress. Let’s just suppose, I don’t know, what if we all took off our armour and drove politely through our capital. OK that’s enough fantasy, reality dictates that war is allowed when driving through major Cities, Manchester and Liverpool and especially Birmingham, not to mention Leeds. The SAS designed that system I’m sure of it. It is the ultimate torture ground.

With the New Year I am prepared for the challenges ahead. There is the fight against my Waist Line. He lines up his troops in the supermarket, waiting for me to try and get past them. The fight against my health. I honestly believe that as the co-conspirator with my Waist Line, my health needs to be reminded from time he is supposed to be on my side.
The biggest battle I face this year, is with me, with the self that doesn’t believe me. I mean do you blame him. I vowed last year that I would win over the Waist Line. As we finished the year, the Waist Line had less troops, but he had gained reinforcements that I allowed to get through my defence. This year I need to make sure that I strengthen my boundaries when I take time off. I have battles to face in my home, with builders and decorators coming in. They will try my patience and my health will have to choose which side it is on. If it sides with the Waist Line it will suffer, but if it sticks with me and we work together we should both prevail.

So, here I am. Covered in armour from head to toe. My trainers and gym gear to one side, my swim suit to the other. I have my intellectual head on and my calorie calculating shield. My sword of reason held ready to cut down the insecurities I face and the temptations that I am presented with.

In short, yep I’ve started the New Year Diet, again!

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