My True-Fictional Story: The Cake
After exercising for over a month, I was growing more and more excited about the muscles that were popping out and the new found shape my body was growing into. Finally, after having three babies, and almost twenty months after I had my last child, I was starting to feel and look better than I had in years! But there was one problem: while every other muscle was forming well, my abdominals were…well…not. And when I say “not,” I mean not at all. I began to get irritated over the ordeal. All this hard work, all of this sacrifice of waking up before dawn and hitting the gym, and my abs had the audacity to be non-compliant? The nerve of some muscles! One afternoon, I was complaining about it to my husband. And that is where this story begins.
“Alesha,” my husband began, “Your abdominal muscles are what you eat.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked my husband-turned-fitness-coach as I munched on my Homestyle Vanilla ice cream.
“In other words, how your abs form, or don’t form, depend on what you’re eating. You can do all the sit-ups you want, but eating that ice cream by the pound is like defeating the purpose,” he said matter-of-factly.” Well, I thought to myself, I’m sure gonna polish off this bowl of ice cream…how’s that?
But, alas, he was right. So right then…well, not right then, after I finished that ice cream, I decided to challenge myself to eating clean and healthy. I went to the store and bought good fats that would support my muscle building like avocados, more fresh fruits and vegetables, whole grains, lean meats, and dramatically cutting down on the sugars in my diet. I actually enjoyed eating healthy! My husband was encouraging, and my children would eat with me. How do people struggle with this, I wondered? This is easy and it’s a pleasure!
A week later, my husband had to go out of town for a fitness engagement. I needed some things from the store, so I packed up my baby girl and we headed to the supermarket. I grabbed my fruits, and some water. Then I realized I needed my fruit shakes (already made, of course). After placing three shakes proudly in my basket, I heard my name being called, “Alesha. Alesha. Look at me. Over here…”
“Who’s there?” I said in surprise. There was nobody else in the aisle, and my daughter wasn’t speaking at that level yet.
“It’s me,” the voice said, “your old friend right next to the shakes. Come a little farther down.” I slowly made my way to the left of the shakes. Was there a person in the freezer? As my eyes wandered along the freezer of frozen fruits, I saw the pound cake looking at me. The already made, already succulent, already buttery, and forever delicious pound cake. “How could you forget about me?” it said. “Me, your friend. We haven’t seen you in weeks.”
“Listen, Cake, there has been a change in my life. I can no longer partake in your goodness. You’re messing up my health progress! My abs are a mess!”
“Alesha, I’m hurt. Haven’t I been there for you through thick and thin? The good and the bad times? When you and your husband would argue, who was there to pick up the pieces? Me, that’s who. When you cooked dinner and you needed something sweet, who was there? Me, that’s who. Who was there to comfort you during those scary movies? Me, that’s who! And who helped ease the pain of having to endure one of your husband’s redundant choices of Redbox movies? ME!”
“Cake, I can’t–” I began as I placed the back of my hand across my forehead in distress.
“So now you discard me like some sappy old love? I’m not trash! I’m expensive! I’m quality! I cost almost four dollars without a coupon!”
“You know you’re no good for me! You will hurt me in the long run. I’m taking a stand now and telling you to your face that I can no longer do this. We are over, Cake!” I began to sob. Every taste bud in my mouth was against me. Oh, God, give me strength. It’s so good-looking! And tastes so good! No, I need to be strong. “I WILL NOT cheat on my health with you!”
“Oh darling,” the cake whispered, “It’s not cheating if nobody knows.”
“I would know!” I cried.
“You’ll be back, Alesha,” it mocked.
“You’re processed food!” I yelled, angry at its mockery.
“Oh, now we are name calling? Very mature, Alesha.”
“I hate you.”
“You love me.”
“Then why are you so angry?” The cake quipped. It was right. I did love the cake. Its golden complexion was reminiscent of the sunlight glow on the hilltops of New Zealand. And the taste was even more satisfying than its appearance, so soft and sweet. The cake was right. I did love it. “What’s love got to do with it?” I responded with a sly grin. The cake’s eyes grew big and angry. It was now upset knowing I was standing strong. “Everything!” it snapped in desperation.
“Lord, remove this thorn from my side!” I cried. I calmed myself with a deep breath, and gathered my thoughts, “But, Lord, Your grace is sufficient for me.”
“Don’t you bring the Lord into this! This is between you and I!”
“My body is His temple and you’re not allowed in here anymore!” I shouted and began to walk away.
“You’ll be back,” it laughed, “they always come back! You’re not my only one, and you won’t be my last one!” it taunted.
“You won’t be rotting in my arteries, punk!” I said as I continued to walk away. And walk away, I did…. victoriously.
I think my daughter is traumatized from the experience since she won’t go near our refrigerator anymore. But my abdominal muscles are much better and are forming nicely. Yay!
Train dirty, my Friends, but eat clean.
“Do you not know that your body is the temple (the very sanctuary) of the Holy Spirit Who lives within you, Whom you have received [as a Gift] from God? You are not your own, You were bought with a price [purchased with a preciousness and paid for, made His own]. So then, honor God and bring glory to Him in your body.”
1 Corinthians 6:19-20 amp