Dear Sugar,

You’ve probably noticed by now that I’m not coming around as much anymore.

I’d like to say it’s not you, it’s me, but the truth is it’s you. I find you irresistible, and the only way I can deal with that is by walking away from you entirely. You don’t make it easy, either, with your ice creams and cakes and chocolates all easily available and tempting. But you, in all your delicious forms, make me fat, and I’m tired of it.

Oh, don’t get me wrong. It’s much easier to snuggle in your sweet arms and be fat. On the other hand, I’m sick of only buying one or two pairs of jeans at a time and then wearing them to shreds because I’m sure I’ll manage to lose the weight this time so there’s no point in spending money on more. I have eight pairs of pants in the closet, Sugar, and they’d all fit me if it weren’t for you. One pair is purple. How can you possibly think you can compete with purple pants?

Probably because most of the time you can. Most of the time you do. In fact, most of the time you bitch-slap the pants and send them running to the closet and crying for Mommy.

That’s really not very nice behavior, Sugar. Is it any wonder I want to see somebody else?

Well, now that I’ve brought it up, I suppose I’ll admit to it. I *have* been seeing someone else. His name is Swimming, and he’s much more open-minded than you are. I mean, sure, he makes me work a lot harder for the reward, but he’s more adventuresome. In fact, for me to see Swimming at all I have to spend plenty of quality time with his pal Walking, and neither of *them* mind if I spend time with their friend Pilates, too. Most days I hang out with at least two of them, and know what? They all fit into my pants better than you do. So where does that leave you, Sugar? What have you done for me, besides give me heart palpitations and an upset stomach when I over-indulge in you?

You played hardball, too. Right after I decided to stop seeing you, you sent your nasty friend Head Cold to break my will. I’ll have you know it didn’t work. Maybe it didn’t work because mostly I had no appetite, but regardless, you failed. It’s been two and a half weeks now, and I’m not missing you quite as much. I know I’ll never stop loving you, but trust me, babe. It’s better this way.


miles to Minas Tirith: 299
ytd km swum: 43.7