It's not you, it's me: A carb breakup

The 10-week quest is dang near its end - only a week and a half to go.

When the program began in April, I suspected that by the time June rolled around, I'd find myself collapsed in sweat on The Landing's floor, screaming "Mercy!" and attempting to imagine my way back to a happy place.

I thought I'd be relieved to find the effort come to an end. Freedom! Right?

Not so.

All the classes and Reiki and yoga - even that murderous Kettlebell and cardio pilates - have become a routine. Less "I have to" and more "I wanna."

I don't feel like I'm taking part in some temporary experiment. I'm just doing what I do.

An added perk, of course, are the generous folks who point to my midsection or gesture to their own faces and say, "I can tell in this area."

Yea you can. Because I've been working my arse off. And it shows.

And I think we all know who I have to thank for this. That's right. Carbohydrates.

That lovable friend that comes in so many delightful forms. That constant companion. That bloater.

I make no secret of my penchant for potato products, pasta and crackers. They're the stuff dreams are made of.

But I've loosed my co-dependent relationship. I've told them that, while I appreciate their good spirits and lively senses of humor, I think we simply spend too much time together.

And they, respectfully, have given me my space. No more unexpected visits or late-night phone calls (one drunk dial aside).

I'll never be carb-less. I find too much joy in yam fries and reheated spaghetti. Oh, and the beer.

But some small omissions make such a difference.

My coffee? Now sugarless! The downside, of course, is that bad coffee is no longer saved by sweetener. And I, apparently, make very bad coffee. It's something to work on.

Gone are the day-long grazings on chips - and gone also is the end-of-the-day puff (when I all too often wondered if someone had shrunk my pants as I worked, because "I swear they fit fine this morning").

Small changes are adding up. And I find myself flexing a lot. No bulging biceps to speak of yet, but I make sure to check hourly, just in case. And if there's a coworker or friend handy, I flex for them too. Roll their eyes they might, but I think they like it.

I'll be bummed when Quest ends - mostly because I'll miss the people. But then, we'll still run into one another red-faced, doused with sweat and near death in the middle of kettlebell.

Because I'm going to stick with this whole "fitness" thing for a while. Perhaps until I have calves that scare children. And I'd venture to say my fellow Questers are sticking with it too.

(That, my friends, is what we call life changing.)