As I biked lazily across town yesterday with my kids in the bike trailer, I actually seriously pondered how much food I could consume. Three thousand five hundred calories of food? That would only be one pound.
I can gain a pound. Heck, why not. I can call it an "experiment in how I feel afterwards" and then blog about it. And then after feeling bloated and uncomfortable I can go exercise a bunch (next week).
And then I began thinking about how much I'd have to exercise to lose three thousand and five hundred calories. Each mile I run is only 150 calories. An hour in the pool is like 400 calories. Oh it is all too much. There's no way I could just go burn off the pound.
And yet, this still didn't change things because I'd already eaten!
Yesterday, in my tired moody funk, I ate a slice of pizza for breakfast. I ate ravioli for dinner. I ate chocolate. I ate a biscotti. I wanted to go out and eat a big monster sized sushi roll. I wanted to take the kids out to ice cream. I ate a taquito and two chicken tenders from the grocery deli.
I titled my mental blog post, "Falling off the Wagon".
I did take the kids out for a nice hike in the evening. It was good to get outside and my energy improved. I wanted to put the kids to bed and go back downstairs and eat ice cream.
I recognized that I'm due to get my period this week. I'm tired from a fantastic weekend of camping and being outside. I ran three miles on Saturday and again on Sunday out in the wilderness. I was dehydrated and the runs were LOUSY, but yet, I did them and I did them in beautiful places. Maybe yesterday was just a day of regrouping. My husband is out of town. Our house is a mess. The weather was gray. I had no energy.
It's just that I embraced the "falling off the wagon" with such gusto.
And today at lunch I wolfed down lots of macaroni and cheese knowing full well that it wasn't a good choice and that I had no excuse like lack of sleep, coffee or my normal breakfast routine.
Right now I'm smacking a piece of gum around in my mouth.
There is a part of me that doesn't even know why I'm trying to lose weight. Really? That would be my old addictive lame part of my brain trying to get a foothold on things.
I tell myself that while I feel fat I am obviously a lot LESS fat than I was before. I'm wearing completely different clothes. It's interesting to experience the same feeling of "cowness" in a different body.
I tried to do Jillian this morning at home and bombed. It took me three hours to turn on the dang DVD and then I decided to rectify my lazy ways by attempting Kettlebells Level 2 (all the while remembering Victoria's_View once commenting that it made her ill when she did it) and soon enough I realized there was no way I could complete it. I couldn't even begin to do one of the early moves and in my non-energize state, I figured I was better off switching gears. I switched to Jillian Level One and got through 2/3 of it before lying on the floor with my kids giggling on top of me.
I showered. I said I'd go for a long bike ride later with the kids in tow. Later, when the gray foggy cold wind didn't alleviate, I said, "Maybe I won't".
Now the sun is trying to burn through.
Reflecting back on yesterday's "binge" I can recognize that I did more planning and rationalizing than actually binging. I'm not out of the woods yet. I still don't really know why I can't go out and eat a big delicious dinner tonight nor how it would harm me.
Oh sighing - of course I do. I would feel lousy about myself. I'd feel a bit out of control. A bit depressed. A bit BLEH!
So...compassion for myself. I'll ride through this wave of whatever is going on. And I'll try to recognize that my scavenging isn't as bad as it could be. And I'll keep smacking this stupid piece of gum around in my mouth as loud as I can. And trust that soon enough I'll be back in the saddle - maybe.
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