There's a little bugger called the 'Heathrow Injection' whereby those of us who migrate to London inevitably put on weight. Lots of it! I'd heard rumblings of it when I first moved here; pfft, I said, I eat crap all the time and never put on weight. Famous last words...
They say it's a combination of changed diet and routine, excessive drinking, regular pizza deliveries (on a side note, one housemate recently commented that everytime the doorbell rings now, she expects it to be the pizza man and gets a little jolt), and comfort food cravings in the cold weather. I would add to that list my inability to cook anything other than pasta and potatoes.
I've talked about going to the gym but abandoned that idea pretty quickly. Me? Treadmill? Keep dreaming. I've tried dieting and detoxing but neither lasted very long either.
Then last weekend, I came up with the perfect solution: I bought bigger jeans. Now when I slide into my jeans, I'm no longer reminded EVERY MORNING that I've got a muffin top. Rather than putting all my energy into disciplining myself to not detour into Starbucks for the tall skinny gingerbread latte with an extra shot or refusing myself dessert (insane, right?), my mental energy has been focused instead on accepting my new body. Mind over matter baby, and I get to have cake too!