Ice cream is the joy and the bane of my life. There are few experiences more sensual than the cool, soft, creaminess sliding over my tongue, tasting of cherries or caramel or peanut butter or sweet chocolate. The pleasure is almost sacred. Letting it lay on my tongue until, finally, it glides down, spreading the joy to my very soul.
My words spill onto paper today to day farewell, to release its hold. Alas, my love of the silky smoothness is more than love; each time I choose to savor this palate-pleasure more than a few times in a given week, it becomes addiction. I will purchase ice cream on every grocery trip, sometimes stopping between trips solely for ice cream. And, slowly the pounds pile on, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 10, 25 . . . until the mirror and the fit of my clothing reveal the damage done by months of indulgence.
It’s time to stop. The doctor’s office scale and my physical discomfort tell me I am 15 pounds over the weight at which I am most comfortable.
My blood pressure is up. I fear the results of blood work – currently being tested for sugar, cholesterol – all the numbers internists insist on reviewing. Now willpower builds, even as the nearly-last luxuriously lingual liquid languishes in my mouth. Quitting is a process.
I allow a few days or a week of binging on my favorites. And then, just stop. It helps to know that, after a while, I will not suffer the cravings, no longer put ice cream on my store list, and, mostly will not miss it. Soon I will return to the near-Paleo diet that helps me hang onto better health. For now, truly living in the moment, I will savor each offering for a few more days.