On one hand, the traditional end to this bit of wisdom is "try, try, again." On the other, there's W.C. Field's thought, "Don't be a dammed fool about it. Give up."
I fell off the nutrition wagon with a bump a month ago. Today, however, I climb back on and tie myself to its side. The specters of my parent's health issues haunt me with a vengance. My mother's passage at 51 from a heart attack (I turn 49 this fall); my father surrendering to his heart disease and going on disability at 50. Arthritis racked his last years, which lead to him consuming massive amounts of acetomenephine on top of a prescription analgesic that contained the same. He did his blood sugar levels no favors by washing them down with Scotch. We still don't know how he lived to 69.
While there are practical concerns, there is also the question of vanity. As I left a ladies' room earlier this week, I had a good look at my back side. While it's necessary to accept that menopause does lead to changes in one's body such as hip spread, it is still disconcerting to look in the mirror and feel as if an F-16 could use your butt as a landing strip.
So with all due respect to Mr. Fields, we try again. I'm shooting for 50 grams of carbs and all the water I can hold today. Oh, and my nightly bite of 72% chocolate.
On we go again.