Well, I stand corrected.
For the past three days, I have been craving french fries, which is strange, because I hate potatoes and anything made out of them: Tater tots, french fries, baked potatoes, potato chips, potato pancakes, etc. Two nights in a row, I drove past burger places, just staring, debating if I should pull over and get a late night snack. I was a good girl though. There was always a reason not to stop: I don't need the calories, my cash is running low, I would have to stop and wait, adding an extra 10 or so minutes to my commute... you get the idea.
Then I received a text from one of my YoungLife girls, asking if I could meet her at a burger joint to chat. I arrived to find her and another one of my girls munching on french fries. "You can have some," they told me. Listening to the angel on my shoulder, I declined. When they left the restaurant though, I still had half an hour before my next commitment. I gave in. I ordered a small side of fries with ranch dressing.
Even as I dipped the fries and shoved them in my mouth, I felt disgusted with myself. I was doing this in secret; I was ashamed of my decision. Isn't that a sign that I should not have been committing this act of gluttony?
I arrived at my next commitment: Training some volleyball players at the gym. As we jumped up and down on Bosu balls, balanced on Swiss medicine balls and lifted weights, I could smell the salt and fried seasoning oozing through my pores. Ick! I could not believe how strong the stench was!
Today, on the bike trainer, I noticed the scent of citrus from the orange I devoured before class. It smelt so much better than the fried potatoes dipped in ranch from the evening prior.
Moral of the story: You are what you eat.
