On sport and keeping up with the pensioners

You know that feeling when the diet just isn't going ahead as planned? You know, when you can't kick that mid-afternoon sugary treat-trap. Or you are incapable of ordering less than three courses and a bottle of wine at a restaurant because it just seems such a damn waste of opportunity not to. And of course you are friends with loads of foodies who all want to outshine eachother by cooking and sharing with you their yummy creations. Since I am a exceptionally greedy and have the self-control of a gnat these are major obstacles to my post-christmas healthy eating plan (or perhaps I should do some goalpost-adjusting and call it "run-up to easter healthy eating plan" so I don't have to remind myself of the two months I have passed in eating).
As I have almost given up hope of changing my ways I decided that the answer was sport. I am profoundly unsporty but my boyfriend E has been known in the past to pull on a pair of shorts and, well, I don't actually know what he did afterwards because I shut myself in the bedroom to read with a bar of chocolate, only looking up again when I heard the door slam to see a red-faced E pulling sweaty layers off and getting into the shower.

So we organised a trip to the park, me in my mish-mash of 'sporty' clothes and set off jogging round the lake. Let me tell you something, it is a lot harder than it looks this jogging lark! I was being lapped by over-60s whilst going about 1 mph faster that walking pace. After one lap of the lake I collapsed in a heap panting on the floor. "Are you tired already?" asked E, jogging on the spot and looking at me concernedly. "What...you..bloody ...think?" I managed to get out. "Just...bloody...go on..without..me" (I don't think sport brings out the best in me).

Anyway, after that occasion we tried going together again but sadly after my 1 or 2 laps of the lake I was incapable of doing anything but sitting on a bench waiting for E to finish his one-hour marathon around the park. Not good for the morale.

Happily, I've now found a better jogging companion. My housemate is just as unfit and lazy as me and together we have contentedly jogged at snail's pace round the local park and done a few (but not too many) excercises.

I've now been jogging a grand total of 5 times and at the risk of sounding like a smug sport-convert type person, I already I feel loads better. I eat less and have more energy. Hopefully, by the time easter with all it's associated goodies arrives I'll be strong enough not to have to warrant a pre-summer diet!

Diet disaster

I have been trying to shed those post-christmas extra pounds ever since well, christmas, and failing miserably. The problem is my new line of work. It frequently takes me out onto the streeets and leads me nose-first into the enticing perfumed bounds of delicious treats. Whether they are sweet, savoury, creamy, crunchy, fruity, warm, hot or cold I have absolutely NO willpower when it comes to Italian snacking treats.

The first danger hurdle comes a little before lunchtime when I walk past a pizzeria al taglio (this is bound to happen as they are on practically every street) and smell the bready, cheesy yeasty smells wafting out. I decide that I definitely can't wait that whole half hour that's left before lunch, run in before my conscience tells me not to and order a slice of pizza bianca, a heavenly-when-still-warm concotion of pizza base, oil and salt. Here's a photo, though it can't do it justice:

I'm doing fine and my stomach is pleasantly full mid-afternoon when walking between lessons when I smell that warm sugar and cream smell that can only mean one thing...a pasticceria. And, if I'm feeling weak (most of the time), in I hop to order my fav mid-afternoon sugary treat, an occhio di bue ("eye of an ox"). The best ones are so overloaded with icing sugar that you spill it all down your front and then notice only 10 minutes after leaving, when you will frantically try to brush it off whilst feeling your mouth watering all over again with the memory of the delicious pastry. Here's another pic:

Finally, the day is almost over and my poor stomach thinks it's going to get a rest. Oh no! No you don't! Not if we're going to pass through Piazza Sempione on the way home and have to wait for the bus. Because why would we want to wait for the bus in the cold, at night, with the drunks and misfits, o stomach, when we could take refuge in the bright-lighted, coffee-scented night bar and get a fresh cornetto con nutella and cappuccino. Words cannot describe the genius of the cornetto so I won't try. I only want to say that I regret all the wasted years of my life eating boring po-faced savoury croissants never knowing there were these amazing butter and sugar concotions filled with heart-attack inducing creams and custards:

This is the ultimate Roman way to end your night if you've had a late one. If you're feeling particulalry weak of conscience you could even orchestrate a reprise just a few hours later at breakfast time.

Just make sure you start the diet on Monday...or even this year.

My favourite occhio di bue in Rome is from "I Dolcissimi". Piazza Ragusa, 6. Re di Roma area.

My local cornetto notte joint (and a very good one it is too) is "L'angolo russo". Corso Sempione, 13. Montesacro.