When it comes to willpower, I’ve got pretty limitless resources. I’ve done ultramarathons, Dry January, gone through house builds and parented three children. When it comes to mind over matter, I’ve always considered myself pretty resilient… Unless there’s food involved. It’s always been my Achilles heel, and if you asked my husband Jon, 48, to use three words to describe me, one of them would be greedy (don’t ask what the other two would be).
I’ll happily devour a bowl of cashews while I’m making Sunday lunch, then go back for seconds of Yorkshire pudding. Jon and our kids Eddie, 17, Sammy, 13, and Annie, 10, know not to put me near a box of chocolates, and I’ve spent hundreds of hours sheepishly explaining to the kids why I’ve scoffed their last Maltesers, cupcakes, or Pringles. I can’t even resist finishing their lunch-box leftovers at the end of their school day, so the prospect of cutting out snacks or limiting myself to one measly crisp or M&M like Jennifer Aniston does sound horrendous. But I’ve wanted to change my snacking habits for a few years now – so, undeterred, once more unto the breach, I go…
MONDAY
Day One starts fine. I’m not a big morning snacker, anyway, and quickly tip the kids’ lunch-box leftovers in the bin when they get back from school so I’m not tempted. Dinnertime poses another problem, though. Glass of wine in hand while I finish making the salad, I spot Jon squirreling away some nachos and salsa. A red mist descends, and while I lament his lack of support, with a kitchen knife in my hand, he promises to try to reduce his snacking this week, too.
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