Before I started dieting, the convenience store represented a wonderland of delicious foods and snacks for me to choose from. Getting gas was fun, because it meant snacks.

Now, it's a place that constantly tests my willpower. I hate going to get gas.

I walked inside the store carefully, sizing up my opponent. Quckly, I did a barrel roll past the display of potato chips, only to come face to face with the ice cream freezer. I threw up a quick block, and pivoted, narrowly keeping myself from grabbing a pint of Ben & Jerry's Butter Pecan ice cream.

I had passed those tests only to be confronted with the fresh donut display.

Mmmmm. . . donuts. . .

I was momentarily hypnotized by their fresh gooeyness. I felt myself getting weaker, walking over to the donuts. . . taking a donut. . .

My "stick to my diet" willpower kicked in, flashing me a mental picture of what my thighs look like right now (cottage cheese, all the way, baby!). It was just in time. The donuts are a powerful adversary. I was lucky this time around.

In front of the donuts were the candy bars, put in place neatly with all their chocolate goodness. They called to me, begging me to take them home with their Sirens' song of sweet love. I blocked them out by singing one of the songs from my workout playlist, and remembering how good my workout made me feel.

I also kept my eye on the prize - buying a nice, healthy bottle of water and paying for my gas.

I cruised by the crackers, cookies and other prepared snacks. They wouldn't get me today.

I was almost home free. That is, until I got to the register, and the store's last and best attempt to get me to break diet protocol - the fresh baked goods.

In front of me were packages of nutty brownies, lemon pound cake, cream danish, big, soft cookies, whoopie pies and other pre-packaged trips to a sugar heaven. Sweets (and any shoe sale) are my weaknesses.

I started to sweat. I had to be strong. I couldn't let the baked goods bring me into their web of empty calories and guilt.

I put down the bottle of water, told the clerk I needed to pay for my gas - and tried not to look at the yummies sitting in front of me.

I crumbled under the pressure. I picked up a whoopie pie and paid for it before my second set of diet defenses could kick in. The clerk swept it into a bag, and I ran away with my ill-gotten food.

I cursed the store and its baked goods. I cursed myself for having to cut out the things I loved because I'd gained so much weight.

Stupid food. Stupid diet.

On our next bout, I vowed to win against with the convenience store (or spend A LOT more time at the gym if I lost the fight.).

The epilogue: The whoopie pie is still sitting in my kitchen. After I read the label and found out that one pie is 530 calories and represents 42 percent of the fat I'd need for an entire day, I couldn't eat it. It looks so good, but it's just not worth it.

I guess I do have some willpower. Who knew?

Anyone want an unopened whoopie pie?