Last weekend, I had to admit I was old and fat. So naturally, two days later, I ate a 20-course lunch.
Since then, I’ve had to acknowledge my own weakness as a human being.
We’ll start with what should have been the all-time low. Our 9-year-old daughter recently started riding her bike the two miles to school along residential streets with a group of classmates from our edge of town. Her 8-year-old sister wanted to start riding too.
She had to prove her ability, so she accepted the challenge of riding from our house to the school while I rode with them in case of a problem. It turns out I was the problem. I had to stop repeatedly, as my legs and my lungs couldn’t take the beating.
It’s hard to fathom being too old and fat when you, as a high school freshman, I barely broke my mother’s 100-pound weight barrier before I could play football. Unfortunately, in the 30 years since then, I found another 100 pounds. My ideal weight is about 30 pounds lower than I am now.
The sedentary life of a newspaper editor has done me no favors. While I’ve been able to keep my weight fairly steady over the last few years, I’ve noticed my energy levels suffer. It hit me head-on when I finally arrived at the school and my 9-year-old told me she was worried about me and how slow I was.
That day, I committed to myself that by the end of the summer, I’ll be able to keep up with my children on their bikes never let myself fall behind again.
Then, on Tuesday, I lived up to a commitment to judge a cooking contest for Trilogy Health Services at the Meadows of Ottawa.
Given the recent events, I promised myself I wouldn’t eat so much it made me sick or fatter.
Mission … failed.
It’s my first time judging a food competition, but you might say I’ve been training for it my whole life. I’ve always enjoyed trying different foods. I prefer eating foods exactly the way they’re served so I can see what the chef envisioned, much like I wouldn’t want someone to add an extra 15 adjectives into one of my columns. I respect the creative process.
And these meals were creative and scrumptious. Pomegranate Merlot braised beef short ribs from the Meadows of Leipsic? Oh yeah. Pan-seared scallops and shrimp alongside rosemary-marinated sirloin steak from the team in Genoa? Absolutely. Smoked Gouda au gratin potatoes from the staff in Ottawa? So good-uh.
Much like that pun, I couldn’t help myself.
I knew I should only take a bite or two of each dinner and each dessert from the 10 facilities represented. I sadly pushed away most of the plates after eating a dozen or so bites, regretting I couldn’t be a part of the clean-plate club. I still wiped out most of the smoked buffalo back ribs in a Guinness barbecue sauce.
I wondered aloud to another judge if someone tipped the Monclova team off about my addiction to Samoas, the Girl Scout cookie, when they presented homemade Samoa-inspired ice cream.
I was happy to help judge the competition, and my scores were roughly in line with the winners. But walking away from it, I beat myself up for over-indulging once again.
We all have weaknesses. One of mine is gluttony. Now I need to fight to overcome that weakness to become the best version of myself, especially if it means I can keep up with my children on a bike ride and eliminate that extra 30 pounds of weight and worry I unnecessarily carry with me each day.
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