Weigh In: Hungry

I am now well into my 2nd week since my scale scared me straight and I got back on the wagon to attempt to fit into my size 6 jeans again. Last week, I was at 156.4 and feeling pretty happy to be headed the right direction and breaking bad habits.

Yesterday my scale had me at 153.8 and loving the sight of that “3” in there.
See.  I told you.
Then I got a headache around 3 pm and couldn’t talk myself out of swiping the icing of a leftover piece of birthday cake in the break room at work. And then more icing off the cake plate. And then a giant vat of rice at dinner and cheesy cracker things. And then the headache convinced me that peanut butter on saltines shoved down my gullet was a great idea before bedtime. So not exactly a perfect day. And the scale knew it and went up slightly to 154.2 pounds. Nothing earth shattering but always slightly frustrating to witness and know good and well you did it to yourself and that you coulda woulda shoulda done better.

If I let that coulda woulda shoulda be the only thing I think about this week, it could easily be a real bummer. But coming back here and realizing I was at 156.4 last Friday, I’m thinking I need to shut the hell up. Because that’s 2.2 pounds less than last week. And in what universe is anyone allowed to be even moderately disappointed by losing 2.2 pounds? Not any universe I want to live in. So I’m thankful and happy and hungry to keep going.

Hungry has been the definition of this week for me.

Hungry to get my habits back in place. So I made a list for the grocery store and went shopping. I had a healthy grilled chicken sandwich when we ate out Sunday. And I resisted the lure of donuts when my husband tried to declare it donuts for everyone day on Saturday. Not even one teeny tiny donut hole went in my mouth even though they were in front of me for the taking. Or in the case of a chocolate twist, abandoned half eaten directly in front of me and calling my name. I’ve diligently packed my lunch every day and had a plan for dinner.

But week 2 of a diet is always a big adjustment week for me. I like to think it’s when my stomach protests smaller portions a little and wants to know why it’s not getting more. That’s tough and some days I do better at it than others. Headaches never help. But I did super overanalyze my roughest days this week which included yet another birthday cake that I fully intended to skip until I reminded myself that if you go you should participate.  So there was cake.  And then another small piece.  Then there was my peanut butter and saltines day which I blame on a lack of extra snacks to tide me over.  I kept forgetting to pack raw carrots in my lunch and those are usually my go to snack when I’m hungry and need something that’s barely any calories so I can eat as many as I want. I always figure I can eat a boatload and it’s just a hell of a lot of fiber and possibly a tired jaw from all the chewing. When I don’t have it I end up eating a lot of apples and almonds. Not that those aren’t healthy. They just contain more calories than carrots so they’re not a freebie in my head like carrots are. I’m on top of the carrot situation now and have packed them and shoved them down my gullet since then. And all is feeling right in the world again. 
Much like all feels right in the world when I listen to this song. 
Hungry to finally get back to working out. Saturday and Sunday were both great days for that. Saturday morning I decided I was starting Couch to 5K come hell or high water. Hell or high water turned out to be not getting it done in the morning and then it was 100 degrees outside. I said to hell with it and did it outside anyway on the way to the gym with my husband. #worstideaever My husband rode his bike and periodically shot water at me from his water bottle. He also suggested I run faster so we could hurry up and end it as well as questioning my sanity for thinking that was an acceptable idea.

Once there, I attempted to wipe some of the sweat off my body and let my husband convince me to enter the weighlifting area of my gym. I’ve always headed straight upstairs to the land of treadmills and group exercise classes. They also have a small circuit of weight machines up there that I periodically use. In my mind, the weightlifting area is only for serious people and that you should sort of graduate to that once you get your act together a little. My act isn’t even remotely together.

But it wasn’t crowded and my husband knows his way around a weightlifting room and actually showed me some stuff. He explained how to use several machine things. Then we squatted. As always. My husband has never met a moment he didn’t think was good for squatting. Just finished sprinting? Drop it like a squat. Just finish some push ups? Sounds like we should squat again. I’m still trying to decide if I hate squats or lunges more. I’m going with lunges this time but only because he had us hold weights in our hands while lunging. Just when my scotch tape thighs didn’t think it could be worse you add weight. Perfect.

Sunday I got my sweat on at Zumba. Then I did Couch to 5K 2 more times during the week. My husband also kept claiming we were going to get our workout on several other days but then we mostly overslept or were lazy bums that refused to get up and do anything after dinner. So I’m thinking I need to work on my oversleeping lazy bum issues next. But at least I’m working out again. And I finished C25K Week 4 thanks to my husband convincing me starting with Week 1 seemed overly dramatic. I started with Week 4 and was sweaty hot mess express clock watching for the time to be up. Oh, well.

Down 2.2 pounds this week and still hungry for more. Mostly hungry for stuff you get at a drive thru window. But also hungry to keep going and have more good days than bad.


Weigh In: Sobering

I had finally started to get myself back on the healthy eating train when I recently ran smack into 16 straight days of travel that included roughly 48 hours of driving. Literally.

First there was 17 hours of driving to one place where we spent a week. I’d call it the start of our vacation except I actually attended work related stuff for 3 days while we were ther. I sat in a room in Florida watching PowerPoint presentations while my husband and kids hit the beach, goofed on in a museum and texted me photos of their late breakfasts that included stacks of fluffy pancakes with a mound of whip cream on top. I don’t care how much you love your family. Being the one on PowerPoint duty in that scenario tests your ability to be generous of spirit.

3 minutes after the last PowerPoint ended my husband had us back in the car driving another 8 hours. After which we spent a week in a rental house on the beach in North Carolina. There was pretty much vodka coming out of the kitchen faucet and much drinking was done by all adults. An old school ice cream truck also came by roughly ever 12 minutes and how do you resist your 8 year old wanting ice cream in the shape of Sponge Bob served from the side of a van. You don’t. That’s how. You don’t. Instead you sprint up the steps of that beach house to find your wallet while your 8 year old stands unattended next to the street waving the van down. By the time you sprint back with the wallet, you’re will to resist is just as tired as your lungs are and you inhale a $3 ice cream sandwich without even thinking about it.

The return trip from the beach house was a mere 23 hours of driving. We accomplished that in a day and a half. Oh, the joy.

I returned to work the next day and immediately recounted for the world my cross country trek drive thru by drive thru and one extra large Dr. Pepper at a time. But I didn’t really need to. The pants that wouldn't fit were already doing the talking for me. Not to mention the scale telling me I was a lovely 159.6 pounds.
That’s 15.2 pounds over my lowest weight which was 144.4 pounds last may. It's also roughly 7 pounds higher than where I was when I had beem righting the ship on my healthy eating before I left on vacation. But even more than that, it was sobering. Because that's like one Twinkie away from 160. And almost 160 may as well be 160. And 160 is a slippery slope to 170 and 170 may as well be 204.4 pounds as far as I’m concerned and that's where I started and that's where I was profoundly embarrassed and ashamed and I had clearly lost my way. It was a stone cold sober moment in my bathroom. 160 is the bright line of unacceptable. Pretty sure 150 really needs to be from now on. But I know 160 is right now. Going over 160 is a deal breaker.

So, this stone cold sober female packed her lunch, sucked down a gallon of water and coped with caffeine and sugar withdrawals the rest of the day. And she woke up to 159.2 pounds the next day.
Make no mistake. That was water weight I parted with. I certainly didn't burn .4 pounds in one day. Parting with water weight happens every time I’ve been on a bender and go back to giving up soda. But I'll take it. Because a quick loss can fuel another good day and the scale rewarded me again the next day reading 157 pounds.

And that fueled another good day right up until I got stuck cutting cake at work at an awards celebration type thing and the cake smelled good and it’d be rude not to celebrate with the winners and then if you’re going to have 1 piece what’s the hard in a second small piece.

Three seconds after I finished the 2nd piece I started beating myself up about it. I felt a little fear in the dark corner inside my soul that fears this time losing weight will be like others and that the real me will eventually surface to gain the weight back. I also came up with stupid theories about not eating anything for the rest of the day to make up for those calories. This classic maneuver never works since you become starvin’ Marvin and begin shoving all the food into your face roughly 5 hours later thereby turning one mistake into a complete and utter trainwreck of a day that leaves you disillusioned and prone to giving up the next day figuring there’s no point in starting again.

Instead, I put on my big girl panties and had the healthy lunch I’d planned and spent the rest of the day behaving myself. And I held firm at 157 the next morning and, lo, there was much joy in my heart.
Holding at 157 despite the cake incident even fueled a good day. Not great because I did get a McDonald’s soft serve ice cream cone with my husband. But when your husband wants to toodle with you for an ice cream cone you say yes and enoy the toodle and remind yourself those were only 3 weight watchers points back when you did weight watchers points several years ago so you know it’s not breaking the bank an otherwise good day. And the scale backs you up on this theory with 156 the next morning. Holla.

The first week of getting back on the wagon and attempting to lose weight is hard. You have to break bad habits. You’re more hungry than usual. And you might even get a headache from giving up caffeine. And you may forget to say no when your brain suggests the 2nd piece of cake. But the scale is your friend during the first week. I’m not under the impression I actually burned 3.6 pounds worth of calories this week. Especially since I know I haven’t been doing much exercise to burn much of anything. But I have been eating better and it’s enough that the scale is moving in the right direction and telling me I’m doing something right. By this time next week, the scale most likely won’t be by friend anymore. So I’ll take my inspiration where I can. Because you have to start somewhere.

This female is scared straight.
Nothing says vacation like shoving random hats on your head in the souveir store.  It helps if you don't think too much about whose head the hat was on before you.
I even tracked my food in My Fitness Pal. For one day anyway. But I haven’t done that in months.  So there. And yesterday I downloaded the Couch to 5K app again. Even if I feel stupid starting at ground zero, apparently that’s what I need.

Stone cold sober, people.


Things I did today

1. Realized I’m finally starting to feel better and that I can no longer blame my ultra bad food choices and general laziness on not feeling well. Besides, exercise gives you energy and helps you feel good. Google says so. So does Pinterest.

2. Weighed myself and decided I need to drop a few pounds. 152.4 pounds. Up from 144.4 my lowest weight. My husband would probably tell you he thought that might have been verging on waify. He also thinks he’s practically a hippie when his hair starts to grow past the top of his ears. He goes his own way. It’s part of his charm. But 152 is most definitely maintaining the Jelly Belly. The Jelly Belly isn’t going anywhere until some of the 152 goes somewhere. I’m also pretty convinced I could run a tiny bit faster than my usual slow crawl if I weighed less. But mostly it just feels like I’m permanently trapped in the 152 neighborhood. Like I bought a house there and then the property values went down and now I’m upside down on my mortgage and who in their right mind would buy it at that price. I’m going to need to break the cycle.

3. Decided I need to start running again in order to run a tiny bit faster than my usual crawl. I haven't been running much since I wasn't feeling well. I started wondering if I need to do Couch to 5K again. Talk about a sobering moment. Also probably slightly overdramatic. Whatever. 3. Started reading This Is Why You're Fat by Jackie Warnerevery chance I get. She has me convinced I’m addicted to sugar, bread, rice and pasta and I've decided I have to give them up. She also convinced me to drop a pretty penny online for supplements she claims I need.

4. Did not have two slices of Honey Wheat Toast with a smear of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter on it. I always have two slices of Honey Wheat toast with a smear of I Can’t Believe It’s not Butter on it. And I wanted to. But I didn’t. Scrambled eggs for the win.

5. Decided I need to hard boil some eggs. I don’t think I’m capable of scrambling eggs every morning.

6. Actually got up from my desk to take my two 15 minute breaks at work. In the morning, I dragged my lazy carcass up and down 8 flights of stairs 3 times. I had the nerve to start out jogging up the first 2 flights. As if. By the 8th floor I was a panting mess and moderately concerned a coworker was going to come into the stairwell and think I was having a heart attack. In the afternoon, I hit the tiny old gym in my building. It’s mostly treadmills and some weight machines. Project Push Up was in the back of my head trying to convince me to get on the floor and knock a few out. My fear of disgusting old carpet kept me upright though. I checked out the barbells and all the different weight machines. I even hopped on the treadmill to do some sprints to get my heart rate up. And by sprints I mean I put the speed on 7 for 2 minutes and quickly realized I wasn’t wearing a sports bra. Awkward. But it did get my heart rate up. It also nearly flung my badge up into my face on its stretchy cord. Holla at a player, yo. Fitting it in where I can.

7. Started over. Again. This is a place I’ve been before. Too many times to count.

8. Forgave myself for having to start over. It happens. Doesn’t make me a bad person. Just makes me human. Nothing worth having comes easy.



Things that have not been going right for me:

1. I’ve been sick. First there were migraines. Then I couldn’t remember anything to save my life. Then there was a sinus infection. Then a urinary tract infection. Then general feeling crappy. Then a head cold. Then another urinary tract infection. Then more feeling crappy. And now they have me on antibiotics and weaning off a sleep medication that may have been leaving me with “lingering confusion.” Um. What the hell kind of side effect and why would anyone want to take a medication that would leave you confused. I feel plenty confused as it is without medication to help me feel lost in the forest. 

2. I actually managed to develop the bubonic plague the day we were leaving on a long weekend mini vacation with 2 other families. Because it’s not bad enough to be sick while wearing a swimsuit. It’s infinitely more lame to then have a rental house already paid for so you have to go and bring your cooties with you to contaminate other people’s otherwise healthy children. Seriously. I am the wench that gave your kid cooties. I suck. And I had a Kleenex box with me poolside. That’s lamesauce.

3. Our refrigerator died for like the 8th time in a row. We kept having the world’s nicest appliance repair lady come and apparently put it back together with the equivalent of duct tape. The duct tape kept fraying and we’d be back to no fridge two days later. It’s a vicious cycle and involved buying a new gallon of milk every 3 days. Not cool. We finally decided the world’s nicest appliance repair lady was going to need to tag out on this one and let the big dogs at Fridgidaire give it a shot. Because this girl right here is tired of her blueberries going bad.

4. Everyone in my house has taken over my DVR and I now have 17 episodes of Full House, 8 episodes of some survival National Geographic channel crap called Life Below Zero. And yet my Real Housewives recordings are all roughly 11 minutes long because apparently that’s how long it takes before someone tells the DVR to stop recording my stuff so they can change the channel. I’m sure there was a riveting episode of VicTORIous we couldn’t possibly miss.

5. I have not been to my new gym in almost 3 weeks. The cooties have also been sapping my will to fight the flab and I haven’t eaten great either. Therefore, my size 8 jeans aren’t hanging off the tush anymore. They are clinging wildly to the tush and sending memos to my brain that we will soon be at Defcon 4 on the pants size front if I don’t get it together. My push up project has also been on hold for 3 weeks. What measly little muscle I had managed to build is in jeopardy of wasting away.

6. I broke the charger to my Garmin GPS watch. I'm now holding it together with a giant binder clip. It's full blown ghetto make it work.

7. The maintenance light in my car has been on for 2 months now.

8. I’m roughly 6 months overdue for a hair cut.

9. My sink has been full of dishes for 2 days.

Things that are totally going right for me:

1. It’s Friday.

2. It's still Friday. Did I mention that?


Rainbow Dash died on my watch

Rainbow Dash died yesterday. One of the world’s most annoying dogs decided she had to go. To add insult to injury, she was left in shredded pieces outside my 10 year old’s door.
The guilty party.
I’d like to tell you my 10 is too old for My Little Pony except they have a television show now and it’s actually fairly cute and sweet. It’s essentially 30 minute lessons about how to be a good friend and help others. What kind of hag wouldn’t be in favor of their kid clinging to their youth and watching that crap? Not this one is all I know. So let’s shove popcorn in our faces and binge watch them on the DVR. A beanie baby Rainbow Dash even appeared in her Easter basket.

Sadly, the 10 year old made the mistake of leaving the door to her room open yesterday and the rest is history.  The 10 year old was overly tired so there were tears shed. Poor sweet little Rainbow Dash. We’ll never forget you. Especially since you are so easily replaced courtesy of Amazon Prime.

Despite my deep and abiding sympathy for the tragic loss of Rainbow Dash, her stuffing is still scattered on the landing at the top of our stairs. That’s because it’s been a long couple of days. It’s the end of the school year and 320 million activities seem to be crammed into the last 2 weeks of school. I’m ready to rip my hair out trying to keep track of everything that is going on and everything I need to be doing to be ready for everything that’s coming up.

My memory hasn’t been great the last couple of months.   The last two weeks it's been frazzled and nonexistent. I’m now handling issues day by day without any planning ahead. It’s awesome. It also means my sink is periodically full of dishes and this gets on my nerves and adds to the awesome. Yesterday the only thing on the schedule was volleyball. I spent my “free time” catching up on the aforementioned dishes. My life is one giant party. I’d probably feel less worn out if my entire weekend hadn’t been sucked down the black hole of kids’ activities only to lead directly into another busy week.

Sunday was the biggest black hole of them all with my daughter’s first dance recital. They make a big fuss over it and do it at a big theater downtown. She’s been looking forward to it for months and slightly obsessed with everything about it. Her enthusiasm is so sweet it sort of renews my faith in the universe.  But the heavy lift getting there was all me. Costumes, stuff to go with costumes, the right color tights for each costume, hair net, bobby pins and pretty much my life’s blood.
Post recital. Hungry but above average delighted by the entire experience.
I thought the week leading up it was stressful with extra rehearsals and running around to get everything. But then the actual day of the recital they had a dress rehearsal in the afternoon at the actual theater. My kid’s first scheduled time was 1:40. We’re supposed to be there 30 minutes early just in case so we needed to be there at 1:10. We’d need roughly 30 minutes to get there so now we’re leaving the house at 12:40. And we were going to do her hair and makeup before we left the house so now my day is starting at 11:30. Right after I feed everyone and run to the grocery store for the week.  And we did not return to the house after the recital until 8 pm that night.  8 hours later.  Sigh.
How happy the make up and the costumes and the dancing make this kid is clearly the motivating force here. 
My kid danced in three numbers that lasted roughly 10 minutes total during the recital.  But I sat through another 2 hours and 20 minutes of other people’s kids dancing. I’m told I’m lucky her 3 dance numbers were spaced out during the recital so I always had something to look forward to during the other 2 hours and 20 minutes. Too bad I had an 8 year old boy in tow because his father was out of town for work.

My 8 year old would like it noted that 8 hours of watching girls in tutus is not his idea of a good time. I’m pretty sure that’s the definition of taking one for the team and that I should buy him a car or something as a token of appreciation. At minimum, he gets dibs on the television remote until September.
One 10 year old on the edge of her seat for her turn. One bored 8 year old. He got exponentially more bored after the fake iPad battery died an hour into our 8 hour journey.
And who knew what a total beat down dance was for the parents?!?  I seriously never knew that.  My daughter is now trying to explain to me why she should try out for the dance company team. I feel confident that involves more long days and more cosmetology related duties for me. Sigh.
Walk Like an Egyptian number.  Duh.  It blew her mind that her father and I guessed the name of the song she was dancing to just by seeing the costume.
As if 8 hours sitting in a dark theater waiting for my kid’s turn to dance wasn’t enough, I came home to discover my refrigerator was again on the fritz again. We’ve had it fixed 3 times since living the cooler life last month. It’s been a joy. It was Sunday night. We were tired. I decided not to worry about the fridge until morning.

Then I went to make everyone something quick to eat before bed and discovered I’d successfully flooded the fridge with water thanks to a Tupperware container with a crack in it. Egg cartons were literally disintegrating from soaking in a pool of water all day and then I successfully flooded the kitchen floor trying to take care of it.  Then I went and laid down on a heating pad and told everyone I was done for the day. No one was allowed to need anything else from me. We watched another riveting episode of some stupid Disney channel show and called it a night. Mostly because I was ready to go to bed. So everyone else had to go to bed, too, regardless of how they felt about it.

If only that worked for other things. Sort of like the other mothers that want to keep emailing about terrific new ideas for more end of the year crap we can all add to our overburdened schedules. Like our kids will be scarred for life if we don’t do snow cones at the park Friday afternoon after a full day at Field Day. Because, you know, there won’t be any popsicles or anything at that event. We definitely need snow cones. Much like last week we needed bowling and laser tag. Much like this weekend we need an overnight space camp.  I’m officially drowning.

Someone asked me if I signed my daughter up for a volleyball camp that’s coming up in June. I told the other mother that the idea of willingly signing up for anything at this point make my skin crawl. The calendar is full, people. Make it stop. Either that or stick my husband on a plane and send him home from his work trip. Or tell my dogs to stop waking me up at 3 am every night. Or tell my kids to stop dirtying dishes. Even work is super hectic. I'm just so done.  Tag me out.
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...