I thought I was the only one looking forward to August. Until I saw a Facebook post with the same wish. So, it’s not only me.
How was your July? Did you wish for it to be over, too? If yes, may I ask why? Hmmm. Nosy me. Haha.
July was the time to assess my low-carb journey, so that the next time someone puts a bread roll in front of me, to be paired with the butter that I’m using as dessert, I can easily say no and proceed to savor the butter only.
Yes, butter as dessert. Which others find as eww. They’d ask me, Why? And I’d say, Why not? It’s yummy.
And sometimes the question is, Why am I, uh, there? I guess I’m there for the food. But low-carb doesn’t mean I can eat forevermore, beyond satiety, as long as it’s low-carb. There’s a limit to the gluttony, which I learned only in July.
Now you know why I wanted July to end—so I can move on to August and hopefully learn how to avoid the point of gluttony.
The low-carb dieter is better off watching low-carb-fasting videos. The columnist is better off writing a column. The bookworm is better off reading a book. Wait, am I describing me? But my better-off choice will be to go to the gym and write a column there after the Zumba and the group workout and the training. Hehe.
I could spend four hours there, prompting my low-carb doctor to comment, “You don’t actually need to live sa gym po. Four hours for six days are too much.” Uh. Despite the possibility that two hours of that are spent doing TikTok with our Zumba instructor and classmates, making chika with gym classmates, attending birthday parties that are held there, and writing this column.
My personal trainer has revised my sked for now, giving me more time to eat, er, watch movies in cinemas that serve free popcorn, discover new restos, savor Spanish latte at cafes. Oops. Those three choices still focus on eating. He and my low-carb doctors won’t like that at all.
Signs I’ve become a gym rat: gym classmates notice my absence, and once I’m back, they’d say, Welcome back! As if I had been absent for a year. But I love to be welcomed in an environment that I never thought I could still return to at my age.
I had been going to gyms since 1990. But each time life happened, I’d leave the gym and go back to eating.
Although I read somewhere that “life happened” should never be used as an excuse, because life is always happening, and there’s no such thing as life not happening, it’s still the simplest way to explain moments that I’d rather not discuss.
I’m the type of person who doesn’t know the difference between a friend and an acquaintance. I’m always attached, never detached. And I thought other people feel the same way. So, when I say, Life happened, it usually refers to my inability to tell whether a person is a friend or not. Hmmm.
