There are things I don’t understand. One of them is counting calories. So much so that I typed up a rant about it on my phone.

The house could’ve burst into flames, but I wouldn’t have noticed. As I typed, everything turned red. My fingers grew tense.

My eye twitched.

Here’s what I wrote.

Counting calories. 

I don’t know why people who count calories don’t turn around and kick themselves in the head.

It’s crazy to keep up with!

You work out at the gym for half an hour, feel good, burn 130 calories, then you go home. 

You decide to have a yogurt cup because you want to be healthy. It’s after a workout. There’s fruit in there. You’re good.

Then, you see that tiny little boxed number on the side of the yogurt cup.

150 CALORIES? You didn’t work out hard enough for a yogurt cup?!!

You know what you hear more frequently than “I’m counting calories”? “I used to count calories.”

You know why that is? 

Because if you “used to” count calories, you’re a SURVIVOR. You didn’t kill yourself. You left that life of self-turmoil behind. You enjoy brownies. You’re a Little champion. 

I wrote that about three weeks ago.

Now, guess what I’ve started to do?

Count calories.

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