Today, as I carried my plate of fresh strawberries and blackberries to my office, a couple of coworkers oooed and aaahed over my snack.
"We'd look like her if we ate like that," one of them said.
If they saw what I ate for dinner last night, they wouldn't ooh and ah.
For dinner last night I had the equivalent of six chocolate-chip cookes in raw cookie dough. How does this happen, you might wonder? I'm so into nutrition and fitness, everyone points out.
Cue the sappy sad-story background music: I worked a long day yesterday, didn't have food with me (I normally pack three to four light meals that I eat throughout the day), I was stressed and, shoot, I am just going to say it: It's that time of the month. Sitting in my office at 5:30 p.m., I thought about hitting the vending machine. "No," I told myself. "Nothing but poison in there."
Then I remembered: I bought a tub of cookie dough from a coworker who was selling it for her kids' fundraiser. Chocolate CHUNK cookie dough. It was in the freezer in the lunchroom. Precisely at 5:44 p.m. yesterday, my friend, Fred, called just as I began to wedge my plastic spoon into the frozen dough. I cradled my cell phone between my ear and shoulder as the first spoon snapped in half because the cookie dough was too strong.
The next chunk flew across the room. I ate it off the floor. Ten-second rule.
Over the next two hours, I estimate I ate the equivalent of six cookies' worth of cookie dough. According to the label, that's 1,260 calories, 66 grams of fat, 720 mg of sodium, 162 grams of carbohydrates and 18 grams of protein.
I felt sick that evening, though I relished the big chunks of chocolate. I love chocolate, and I love it even more when it is frozen. I thought about eating a good, nutritious dinner afterward, but the thought of more food turned my stomach.
When I got home, I baked the rest of the cookie dough. Baked cookies don't hold nearly the temptation that the dough does.
I confessed to Fred, who rode next to me in spin class this morning, "I ate cookie dough for dinner last night," as we pedaled to a Lady Gaga beat. "I ate it while we were on the phone," I told him. No judgment from Fred. He gets it. He sent me a text later today that said, "Stop that, sister" and acknowledged that we all need to get back on healthy eating.
This binge was preceded by an eight cocoa-dusted truffle binge last week, thanks to my new boss, who left them for me for the holidays. In case you were wondering, you can eat six cocoa-dusted truffles as you walk from my office to the lunchroom. Real slowly. (You can eat two more once you get there.)
OK, that's all I have to say about my sugar binge. It's over. I'm breaking up with chocolate and getting back on track.