Food & Working Out - they DO go together!

I'm certainly not a fitness expert. In fact, up until six years ago I hated working out, sweating or doing anything active. Not so much because I was lazy, but because I wasn't comfortable in my own body. I was tall and skinny and it took way too long for me to fill a bra. All I wanted to do was read and write and occasionally I would consider shooting basketball in the backyard only to entertain my little blooming athlete of a brother.

During that time I ate all kinds of candy, had Chocolate Fudge Pop Tarts for breakfast, Munch-ems for lunch, and one of three dinner items I wouldn't turn my nose up at--salmon patties, steak, or chicken and rice. I didn't care much about food and I didn't have to; I was a walking, talking pole in training bras until almost 18. Sad, isn't it?

Someone finally smiled down upon me when I entered college and granted my wishes. Well, not quite. For several years I would stare at Victoria's Secret magazines and wish I had cleavage. I think I did that more often than would be considered healthy, but then again I think adults still do that. Anyway, in college I finally got some fat on my bones, some strut in my step and a boyfriend. The combination sent me headlong into "I like my body, now let's see what I can do with it."

I never woke up one morning and was able to run six miles, but the routine started my freshman year at UK. My roommate was an avid (and by avid I mean absolutely obsessed) fitness fanatic. I started following her to the gym, proving her wrong by waking up before class to go. Sometimes I went, sometimes I didn't.

My sophomore year my work fell off as I dated a former frat boy who still cooked (kraft mac n cheese) and partied (beer pong) like a frat boy. For the first time in my life I had a little somethin' somethin' working around my belly. Now, let's get this straight, this was no freshmen fifteen. This more like sophomore 5 to 10. But on my body any extra fat just doesn't know where to go! It should go to my chest, but life doesn't work like that it seems.

After my sophomore year and the doomed relationship, I started going back to the gym on a regular basis and haven't stopped since. Granted, I took off a couple weeks when I got patellar tendinitis, but I've always had a routine. Now, it's the gym 5 to 6 days a week.

But I'm no "too cool for school" workout diva. I'm still learning just like everyone else. I absorb every bit of information I can find about workout ideas, how to stay motivated and the like. On top of that, I'm eating better now than I ever have. More whole foods, fruits, veggies.

But I should add, I can still eat a dozen chocolate chip cookies without blinking. And I occasionally binge on almond M&Ms at night, but I have learned a valuable lesson. One whopping helping of cake will not take down all the work I've built unless I let it. I don't think that I'm being "bad" or that "I shouldn't be eating this". Instead I think, "Hunny, life isn't a diet. You want that icing right off the top of the cake, then eat it. Just don't lick the thing clean and keep it up for the next nine days."

Thinking that way, I can have my cake and work it off, too.