|Well, hello there extremely large forehead. WTF camera angle?|
I did a bad thing this morning. Actually, two bad things this morning.
First one: I weighed myself. Yes yes, I know that's not bad like running over a turtle bad (don't you always feel horrible when you run over one of those little guys by accident??? They can't get out of the way, they have mini legs, and they like the slower things in life, no reason to run them over), but stepping on that scale was still a broken goal. I wanted to wait until Oct. 1st to weigh myself because that naturally thin ho-bag (aka scale) had a psycho hold on my mentality. So, it makes perfect sense to torture my mind by not giving into my little weighing obsession....it's fine.
I couldn't hold out any longer. It's been 15 days since my last weigh in. I just wanted to see. I've been trying to pay attention to my body and how my cloths fit and my endurance on the pavement and blah blah blahbity blah.....but that's just not cutting it people. I need numbers. I need to read my satisfaction on a little LED screen. I think I need my head checked. So, I gave in. Gave up. Oh the lameness.
And you know what that bitch displayed on her little screen???? The same weight I weighed two weeks ago. F*ck you very much Weightloss Gods.
I eat oatmeal. Plain. And chicken. Plain. And copious amounts of veggies. Nearly plain. No cheese. No milk. No yogurt. No cookies, popcorn, Sour Patch kids, no NUSSING really worth shoving in my piehole.
And I've ran twice this week. Ok, I know that's not stellar. But at least it's better than nothing.
WHYYYYY, Scale, WHYYYYY???!!!
And because of my immediate realization of my depressing non-existent weight loss, I promptly went to work and bulldozed a glazed chocolate donut. Bad thing number 2. Enter Mrs. Shame. She's nasty hooker too.
I went two weeks without processed chemical sugar crappiness. TWO WEEKS. It's gotta be a record or something. Can someone call Guinness (the record book, not the brewery, but the brewery might be a good idea too)? Do they have a record holder for 'Normal (questionable) Hormonal Woman Withholds from Sugar for ________ Weeks'? Nope? Then, it's all me baby.
But I could have gone longer. Much longer.
I didn't need that donut. I didn't even want that donut. I, like so many of us, associated a 'bad' moment with food. Again. Fiddledicks.
And really, why did a 'no number change' in my weight have that much impact on me, in that way??? Numbers really aren't that important....in the long run anyway. Who the poop's going to care if you weigh 152 vs 140 but yourself? (Writing to myself there.) No one's going to be able to tell whether that 'extra' 12 pounds is muscle or blubber. It's TWELVE pounds! Not a thousand. I've been at 152 for months. I'm pretty sure my body has decided that 152 is where it's going to stay. I have an average BMI. I'm at an average weight for my height. My weight is perfectly all around average...aka normal. So why mentally obsess about something as insignificant as 12 pounds?
I need to realize that I. AM. HEALTHY. That was my very first goal anyway. I don't eat pallets of cupcakes, or a wheelbarrow of tortilla chips, or frozen pizza's every night, anymore. I eat really, really healthy. And I don't fluff around on the couch and watch The Proposal 37 times in 2 days, anymore. I vacuum, or do sit-ups, or play with the dog.....and watch The Proposal 37 times in 2 days. And I run. I run so much more now than compared to one year ago. One measly little year ago I wasn't running, at all. Now I'm running 5K's like I'm an Olympic athlete or something (well maybe not Olympic).That's what matters. Being HEALTHY matters. Not numbers.
Now comes the rebuilding part. I've gone through the guilt, the depression, the shame, the sadness, and the anger part of my mistakes. Now I gotta pick my pooper up and move on from my little mistakes. And learn from them.
And that's exactly what they are! LITTLE mistakes. Is one donut going to wreck my entire mostly (still drink beer people) healthified life? Only if I let it. And I don't want to. Starting now, choices go back to heathland. And if I want a 'cheat' item, that's fine. But not fine when I'm wanting it just to fill a stupid depression-induced void.
I'm going to a football game this weekend. We will tailgate. There will be fried wings, cookies, chips, crackers, cheese, and other junk. But you know what I'm bringing.....veggies and hummus. And grapes. Yup, that's right, high five for me. If I'm going to be looking at all those temptations, I'm gonna want to shove something in my mouth that's not supposed to be there (try to not read that as a sexual innuendo.....Ronnie, Stephanie, Draz, Jen, Dawnya, etc), so why not prepare myself by keeping some 'good' things within reach.
It's a start. And a finish, really.
Shit happens. You don't always get what you want (even though I really do most of the time, hehe). And you're not always going to be 100% super-happy. You just have to face what life is dishing out. And you gotta deal with it, accept it, and move on.....sans frosting topped baked goods.
Whew, I feel better. Damn this writing crap really is amazing.
Ok, enough of that jazz.
Vanilla Ice, Ice Ice Baby just came on my radio. Life just got so much better.
Peace out, gotta dance.