In theory, healthy eating is so easy. I know what’s healthy. I know what’s not. Cottage Cheese – great. Cream Cheese – not great. All-white chicken breast without the skin – great. Corned Beef with all the fat – not so good.
When I walk through the lunch line, my eyes flip over things and I see exactly what I should be eating. A small bowl of chili with beans, non-fat yogurt and a piece of fruit. Talapia with a green chili salsa, steamed vegetables and a side salad. But what ends up on my plate? Beef stew in a bread bowl. Pizza. Cheesy, creamy soups and anything with a layer of fat floating on top.
If I were rich, eating healthy would be easy. A cinch. Some days it’s just so hard to get boring fish for $5, when you know that a baked potato with everything is only 85 cents. If I were rich, however, that wouldn’t matter. I’d eat it contentedly. Without complaint. Because I like the way the fish tastes, just not when I know it is $4 more than I’d like to spend.
In fact, fitness altogether would be simpler if I were rich. I’d have a part time job, and make sure I got in exercise each day during the hours I would normally be working a full-time job. I could buy fitness equipment for my home, including a treadmill and a Pilates machine-thingy. I could hire a personal trainer who would then come to my home and ensure I’m actually using the equipment and getting the exercise every day. And forget just buying the food, I’d hire a chef to prepare my meals for me and bring them to my home, so that they would require only minimal preparation.
Yes, if I were rich, I’d probably have an easier time being fit. But what’s the joy in having no challenge?
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