I Win!/I Lose!

So you know how relationships go through ebbs and flows? Sometimes you want your partner to be something more than they are in that moment. Sometimes they are so fantabulous that you are left breathless and ashamed at your inadequacy. Sometimes the two of you are right in sync and the result is magical synergy.

I actually think this is true for all relationships: friendships, familial relationships, etc. In my case, it's even true of my relationship with myself.

I've been feeling a little ho hum lately in my relationship with myself. All this working out has me secretly wondering what's up with these abs and thighs. Where's the payoff for the sweat? I haven't been naming names, but I've been thinking that some body parts need to get with the program.

You see, as my neck and butt shrinks (they are both down one inch as of today; Betty the Meanie said so) and my biceps bulge, my tummy and thighs remain unchanged. Though it hasn't been audible, there's been a little internal talk with words like "weakest link" and "WTF" floating around in my head.

And so I've been at that sticky, awkward point in the relationship when I want more than I feel the other party is bringing to the table (which, I suppose is actually still me). Today, I committed the cardinal sin in any intimate relationship: I put my abs and thighs on blast to a third party.

That's right, I told Betty the Meanie how I felt, not too much, just dropped enough of a hint to let her know that there were problems at home if you know what I mean. This is when she frowned (she has this mock confusion thing she does that always comes right before she ups my weights) and said, you know, your body should be craving better nutrition; how's your food intake?

What? Et tu, Betty?

This was when the boomerang of judgement whipped out of no where and just pimp smacked me upside the head. I replayed my menus from the week: Jet's Pizza, Burger King Big Fish (the lime cilantro one is awesome, but I digress), and tonight McDonald's cheeseburgers and fries.

Um, my nutrition? I asked audibly and heard the sound of metal sliding as the balance of power in my relationship with my self shifted. Slide, clang!

You see, maybe it hasn't been my abs and thighs that are letting me down -- maybe it's been me who has let them down. I haven't been giving my body the proper fuel, despite the fact that I've actually been craving the healthy stuff. Call me a crack head, but I just haven't been able to let the convenience of fast food go.

Now here I sit, the weaker link in my relationships with myself, pouting and feeling less than. An injured, deposed dictator. Now the task of getting my collective crap together lies with me. The eyes of expectations watch my every meal choice. I am, in effect, on the hot seat.

I feel that rush of warmth that comes from show and prove time collecting between my shoulder blades (although it could be today's work out, I'm not entirely certain). She didn't even say a word, but I feel like Betty the Meanie will be watching, waiting, expecting.

Fortunately for me, one of the many quirky (okay, potentially unhealthy) things about me is that nothing turns me on like a chance to dominate an irrelevant situation (the truly relevant stuff just freaks me out). So to my abs and thighs I am hereby issuing a challenge: "It's on, baby! Bring it!"