Do you hear that?

That softly whispering voice that tickles the inner part of the ear when you’re sitting on the couch or at the computer late at night.

“Eat me . . . eat me . . . c’mon just a little nibble, no one will know….”

Yeah, that’s the one.

I’m sure there is a little fairy in the snack cupboard who is related to the fridge and freezer fairy that call me at night.

All of them with high metabolism, because they’re skinny little buggers.

I hear them when I’m researching venues, caterers, dresses, rings, photographers or just working on an article that I didn’t have time to do that day.

(“I’m a photojournalist Bruce, not a note taker!” said in a distinctly Dr. McCoy voice.)

I can hear the clock ticking in the kitchen – 11:55 p.m.

“Eat . . . me . . . Eat . . . me . . . Ice . . . cream . . . Crackers . . . Cheese . . . Sandwich . . . Peanut . . . butter . . . Mmm . . . Yum . . . Eat . . . me . . . EAT ME!”

I can justify the snack with the “I will be up for another hour and a half” rationale, or convince myself a tiny bit of this or that will take the edge off and I’ll be able to concentrate better.

Forget that my body is probably craving water more than food – I never drink enough and it does make a difference considering how much of our body is actually water – by the time my head is jammed in the freezer hauling out some chocolate-fudge-caramel calorie-filled tub of dairy decadence; it’s irrelevant.

I bypass the copious amounts of fruit and vegetables in the fridge, I virtually ignore the dairy-free sorbet, and I grab a chocolate covered mini-granola bar as a “healthy” addition before heading back to the computer.

I can admit that I’m an emotional eater.

Stress and grief are my most notorious triggers, both of which have been getting way too much attention from those Foodie Fairies in recent years.

Since this lifestyle change, I’ve initiated some pre-emptive emergency midnight snacking procedures.

• Drink the water.

  In theory it seems easy. In practice, the idea of water over ice cream is a harder sell, especially late at night when my sweet-and-savoury tooth is in high gear.

  Once I do get the water – plain old from the tap nothing added – into my mouth, it’s surprisingly sweet. I’m no dietician or anything, but that’s a sure sign from my body I’m doing something good.

• Do NOT go in the freezer or the cupboards. If I limit my foraging to the fridge there is a greater chance I will be chomping an apple, grapes or slurping yogurt to satisfy my snack attack.
• Put on the headphones and turn up the music or just go to bed.

  I’m a horrible sleeper. I go to bed late and I’m up early. Technology distracts me – it’s one of the main reasons I killed the satellite two years ago. A good night’s sleep is just as important to this lifestyle change as healthy eating. I’m getting there, but it’s a challenge.

• If all else fails – duct tape. One way or another those taunting little fairies are going to get theirs.

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I’ll be honest with you, I haven’t seen the inside of the gym since I started this challenge to become healthier.

Don’t look at me like that! There isn’t a thing you could say to me that I haven’t said to myself.

During a normal day, I’m a mom, photojournalist, friend and enemy (to some), chef, doctor, entertainer, and I try to be a good partner, which leads to a whole other list and blog.

Truly I try to make sure that my family gets what it needs even if that means I ignore my own needs.

Adding to the challenge of finding time to squeeze a workout into my day, I’m embarrassed to show my face at the gym.

Surely everyone will know that I haven’t been? There will be judgment, jeers, looks of “What is SHE doing here?” and snickers at my beet-red face and puffy cheeks as I attempt my first workout.

I must be kind of a big deal for these strangers to notice that I haven’t been there, (they don’t even know me) not to mention take time out of their workout to stare and judge.

In reality, people that work, or workout, at the gym are some of the most helpful and non-judgmental folks you’ll find. If they aren’t, you need to find a new gym.

The key, for me, to getting healthy is to ignore the scale, ignore the body mass index (BMI) and pay attention to my diet, water intake, energy levels and the way my clothes fit.

Muscle weighs more than fat; most body builders would rate as obese if they went by the BMI scale.

Remember when you look around the gym, the cafe, the park where you walk the dog . . . we are all different. I have friends whose metabolism is so high they are just as frustrated keeping weight on as I am trying to keep it off.

Don’t let that scale decide if you’ve accomplished a step in your goal.

No, I didn’t make it to the gym.

I did, however, go for two runs – on purpose.

I did move 100 bales of hay, three times. That is a serious full body workout involving bicep curls, squats, lunges and balance.

I purposely parked further away from work, the grocery market and assignments than I needed to in a conscious effort to add exercise to my life naturally.

Washing dishes, doing laundry and cleaning the house have new steps, lunges and speed to them. The neighbours must be wondering what kind of Monty Pythonesque seizure I’m suffering from when I lunge the garbage out to the curb, but I like to keep them on their toes that way.

My clothes do fit a little better, I do have more energy and I sleep better at night. The fact that I want to fall into bed before 2 a.m. is a major accomplishment in my life.

Do yourself a favour, when you hear that voice in your head that says you’ve failed, the one that says you need to follow a particular program, ignore it.

Instead, applaud your efforts, recognize where you might have slipped and start fresh the next day.

Find the time for yourself, even if it’s a five-minute walk in the park, swinging on the monkey bars with the kids, moving 100 bales of hay or doing side lunges while washing dishes.

And tell that nasty little voice to do one!

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The scrape of metal on metal grates my nerves and my eyes grow wide in horror.

What was I thinking when I decided to join the gym on my 40th birthday?

Visions of a massive slice of rich moist cake dissolve as the scale creeps ever upwards.

I have become my mom. My mom who was so consumed by her children and work that she forgot to take care of herself, not just physically but mentally as well.

My mom was great. She was amazing, but she also gave so much of herself to us that when my brother and I moved out I’m sure she was left wondering what happened to “her.”

Oddly, she was barely in her 40s when that happened. She had less than 20 years left to enjoy rediscovering herself before we would lose her.

That’s how I find myself face to face with one of those doctor scales sliding the little metal counter up – up – up until, horrifyingly, it stops far higher than I had anticipated.

Okay, I’m not that delusional. I am aware of how my pants don’t fit.

It wasn’t much higher than I thought it would be, but it was substantially higher than what I believe is healthy.

That is the key word for me – HEALTHY – not skinny, thin, size this or that, just healthy.

Two days before my 40th birthday, I decided to enthusiastically embrace a healthier side of life for myself and my family.

The trickle-down effect will benefit my family and my colleagues as well.

A healthier, more energetic me will be able to chase the children, and maybe even catch them, while simultaneously irritating my colleagues with my Tigger-ific bouncing around in the newsroom gushing about the latest delicious meal I’d concocted.

I’m a giver that way.

I joined the Lose to Win fundraiser to kick off my new decade and force me to focus on getting healthy.

Matt Stirling, a master trainer at Performance Health and Fitness, logged my measurements and ran me through a health assessment. My body fat percentage is high – 33 per cent.

When I stopped working out four years ago, it was 16 per cent.

That is my long term-goal.

Matt is a great motivator; the folks at Performance are welcoming. I’m planning on making it to the gym three times a week for an hour. But you know what they say about best-laid plans . . .

It won’t happen overnight, but in 11 months when I’m walking down the aisle with my daughters by my side I want to know that the man waiting for me will have to endure my horribly unfunny sense of humour (as he refers to it) for a long long long time.