One Beer’s OK, Right?

March 2012

Did you know that March 2nd was Texas Independence Day?  I didn’t either, until I read it on the drink list specials at the bar Henri and I went to with our friends Dave and Lucentia.    I was super excited to get out of the house for a double date and wear my new (old) clothes.  I could fit into my jean skirt and could once again zip up my calf-high boots.

I was feeling pretty proud of myself.  I only ordered one (1) beer…at a bar…on Texas Independence Day!  That is a total sign of self control right there.  I followed the meal plan religiously all morning and afternoon, so in my mind dinner was not a big deal.

The hors d’ oeuvres on the table were hummus, carrots and pita triangles.  Carrots are vegetables, right?  I only hate half the steak slices and maybe four or five French fries that came later, so again I was practically breaking my arm patting myself on the back about maintaining moderation in a public setting.

Alas, my happy state of denial was met with a reality check: there is no such thing as moderation when you’re training for a fitness competition, just rigid adherence to your diet.

Monday morning came and Daniel asked how my weekend went.  And I was dumb enough to answer honestly.

“You ate WHAT?”  The look I received from him was a cross between frustration, disappointment and I dare say a touch of pissed-offedness.

“No, you don’t understand.  It was ONE beer.  Just one.  It was Texas Independence Day…” I explained, my voice steadily growing octaves higher with each lame justification.

“Do you even care about getting in shape?” 

 His question just kind of hung in the air as he stared at me.  I felt about two inches tall.

“Well, yes,” I muttered defensively.

“Because your competition is in three months and you can’t be ready if you keep cheating on your diet.  Alcohol is so bad for you, Lisa.  You’re body can’t restore its muscles because it’s too busy trying to clean out all the toxins you just put in it.  I’d rather you told me you ate junk food than alcohol.”

“Well, I did some of that too…” I confessed sheepishly.

He shook his head and walked to the chest press.  I followed feeling really awful.


Damn, I’ve been served. (c) 2012 Lisa Traugott.  All rights reserved.  No portion of this blog, including any text, photographs, and artwork, may be reproduced or copied without written permission.

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