If you’re still shaking your head and wringing your hands and throwing up all over your keyboard while intermittently spitting out the words, “STOP EDITH! STOP KILLING YOURSELF!” then I’m not sure what to tell you. I admit this all looks a lot like what some shrinks might refer to as a "dangerous pattern," and that said pattern might possibly be misconstrued as some sort of borderline eating disorder, or the potential to develop one later in life, but before you have me sedated, strapped to a gurney and wheeled off to the Institute for Self-Destructive Female Behavior Modification, let’s make a few quick pit-stops.
First up: my primary care physician. We’ll have her check my blood pressure, resting heart rate, cholesterol, triglycerides and weight. Next, a certified personal fitness consultant who'll take my measurements, calculate my BMI and body fat %. We can also stop off at the dentist so he can check my teeth for puke-rot. Lastly, the dietician’s office where I’ll fill her in on my regular diet: more than adequate quantities of raw, high fiber fruits and leafy green vegetables, lean protein and complex carbohydrates in addition to a full regimen of daily dietary supplements including a comprehensive multi vitamin, plenty of C & E, Garlic, CLA and essential oils.
Oh and don’t forget the fact that I drink my 8-10 glasses of water every day, rarely touch soda, only eat fast-food when I’m on the road and cook most of my own meals. After taking all of these things into consideration, please step back and just look at me. Admit it: I look damned good. The physical image might just be worth all the agony. I may have actually found the thing that beats out sex, sleep, shopping and yes, even food, on my “Top 10 Most Important Fixes” list.
OK so you were right to laugh at that one. As great as it feels to be physically fit, to look good and exude confidence, to know that I can run a 10-minute mile while carrying on a conversation, none it can really compare to the pleasure of a frosty Margarita, or a slice of my mom’s lemon meringue pie, or a healthy scoop of Sue Summerour’s Greek Macaroni. Great tasting, “naughty” food is just too damned comforting, and while boxing is many things, it is certainly not comfortable. In fact, part of the appeal is in its extreme level of discomfort. You don’t only get in the ring to show how much damage you can do, you also go in there to show how much you can take. And in the end, often regardless of how the judges score it, you are rewarded. Sometimes with a trophy, sometimes with respect and other times with the simple promise of a bacon cheeseburger. Cinderella Man fought for his family; perhaps the Frenzi fights for her just desserts.
