Italian food... Are you kidding me?

So, the teachers in my grade level wanted to get together for an early dinner last week as our little grade-level-Christmas-celebration-whatever-thing. And they picked an italian restaurant. They wanted to get together at 4:00 on a Monday afternoon for dinner at an italian restaurant. They know that I'm dieting. I don't eat pasta! They know that I go to the gym practically every day after school, between 3:30-4:30. So, I wasn't happy about the thought of being in an italian restaurant during my normal exercise time. But, I felt like I had to go... so I knew that this would take quite a bit of self-control. I sort of looked at it as a personal challenge.

I packed my workout clothes in my car and had a plan to go to the gym immediately after the restaurant. This meant that I couldn't eat a full dinner meal and then expect to hoof it on the treadmill without throwing up on the equipment, which is really frowned upon at my gym. So, while everyone else ordered super delicious Italian meals, I had a small garden salad and lots and lots of water with lemon. Yes, I sat there at the table surrounded by plates of Sicilian pizza, chicken parmesan, fettuccine alfredo, baked ziti, and spaghetti and meatballs... and I ate my small little lettuce, cucumber, and tomato salad. And the never-ending baskets of hot, fresh, buttery, garlic knots were killing me. Absolutely killing me! But I drank more and more water and kept my thoughts on my goals. And I didn't touch any of that food.

Towards the end of the meal, one of the women I was with commented that I have much more restraint than she ever would in that situation. I told her that my goals are more important than any of that food. I left the restaurant in good spirits and went straight to the gym for 30 minutes on the treadmill. And it felt really great. It felt like I had accomplished a huge thing for myself that day. I realized that I can be in the same room... at the same table... with some of my favorite foods in the whole wide world... and that passing them up won't kill me. Who'da thunk it?