Monthly Archives: September 2014

I’m Being Assimilated

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I’ve exercised every day this week.

Every day.

I don’t know who I am anymore.

To further the mind-bending, I’ve wanted to workout. I’ve made time when there really wasn’t any. The walk to and from school with the kids isn’t enough. I’m craving that sore feeling, the ache in my abs that the fucking Pilates workout from HELL gives me, the burn in my thighs from the floor work, my stiff shoulder from the pushups. I’m reveling in the sweat pouring off me as I push an extra 5 minutes on the elliptical.

What the hell, people?

All this added protein and veggies is obviously messing with my head. I’m starting to suspect this Paleo plan is a covert plot to create a nation of super soldiers, slowly seducing us to the fit side. It’s been days since I joked about needing a donut. (Yes, that used to be a daily occurrence and no, it really wasn’t a joke.) The pile of discarded clothing gets larger every day. An opened bottle of wine has been sitting on my counter for 2 WEEKS!

Best yet, it doesn’t feel temporary. This is just what I do now. They have me in their sinister, lean muscled clutches. Shit.

I still have work to do. My fruit and nut intake is higher than it ought to be. We’re making plans to purchase a half a steer next April, so that we’re eating grass-fed beef. Finding pastured pork has been harder – I’m still looking for a local source. And paying $17/pound for sugar free, nitrate free bacon seems more and more logical. I dunno ; probably more of the protein-vitamin molecules blocking the neurons in my brain.

Don’t send help, chickens. I’m loving the dark (and fit) side.

Mental Health

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Aside from my elliptical workouts, I’ve started walking my son to school every morning. We live close enough to the kid’s school that I should have been doing this for the past four years, but I am lazy and we live on a hill, so…yeah.

When people find out I’m doing this, they are very enthusiastic.

“What a great way to get some extra exercise!”

“Jump start your metabolism in the morning! Way to go!”

“I bet you feel awesome.”

And I do. I smile and nod and let them believe it’s entirely fitness motivated.

Which is bullshit.

I walk my son to school so I don’t have to deal with the fuck-wits who drive their children to school. The middle school parents are the worst, but after the first week of watching idiots ignore traffic rules, the safety of others and plain old common sense, I’ve come to believe the seeds of middle-school-parent-fuckwittery are planted while their spawn are in the lower grades.

Christ on a cracker. Don’t stop in the drop off loop and walk your precious little drool bucket to the kindergarten door that is approximately 7 feet from your car. Park your Lexus and tend to your offspring without inconveniencing the rest of us.

Don’t follow the car in front of you out of driveway when someone has paused their progress to let that car out into traffic, especially if you are then blocking the road. Use your god damned company manners, ass hat.

And please, for the love of all that you find holy, don’t turn left when there are cones blocking the left side of the outlet and multiple signs saying NO LEFT TURN. Now we see why Junior isn’t reading at grade level.

But yeah – I’m walking for the health benefits.

 

Wallowing

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20 pounds gone.

20 pounds is a LOT of weight to lose in 2 months. I’ve worked hard and done a great job. My outlook has changed in fundamental ways.

Once again, I’ve cracked the 250 mark (you know, the one I SWORE I would never, ever revisit? Sigh.). I’m rapidly heading for 240. I’ve had to discard 2 of my favorite capri pants because they’re simply too big for me. The shirt I’m wearing today? This is the last day I’ll wear it as well. It’s too big.

That’s awesome.

I’m trying really hard to hold on to these little victories. I need to focus on the positive. If I don’t, I start thinking about the fact that even though I’m moving in the right direction and I’ve lost 20 freaking pounds, it’s only 1/7th of what I have to lose. 14% of the way there. 86% to go. When I think of that, I get really overwhelmed. I still have 120 pounds to lose. Oye.

I want it. I want it badly. But dude. It sucks to give yourself a cheat day and feel like the table full of men next to you are snickering as you eat the cheeseburger you have been longing for. They didn’t know this is the first day in 45 days that I have indulged myself to this extent. They didn’t know about the 20 pounds I’ve lost and the healthy foods I’ll eat for the next 45 days, with only tiny indulgences like 85% dark chocolate or paleo ice cream. Does it matter? No, not really. Fact is, they probably didn’t even notice me. Any censure I felt probably came from my own head.

I hate that I’ve put in all this work, but still can’t buy the clothes I really want to wear or sport a cute River Song costume this Halloween. I’ll get there, but I want something tangible, now.

But it’s worth the wait. It’s totally worth a year of my life, a year of sweat and sacrifice, of self-denial, to be healthy. To be hot. To be River Song.

If only I could just regenerate.

Guilt, Pressure and Betrayal

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Now what?

Finishing the Whole 30 feels a little anti-climactic, to be honest. I’ve reintroduced legumes, cheese and bits of gluten, as well as wine.

Red wine now gives me a splitting headache. Apparently, my sulfite tolerance is low. I can drink white wine, but only in small doses.

I don’t like peanut butter nearly as much as I thought I did. This is shocking to me.

Eating bread makes me feel sluggish. It also put 2 pounds back on me.

I can now eat 2 pieces of thin crust cheese pizza and be totally content. This is a dramatic difference. I even wished I’d stopped after one. Dude.

I cannot have chocolate chip cookies in the house. Hello, my name is Jennifer and I am a cookie addict. I only ate one though. (Okay, two.)

When I ate the cookie(s), my husband looked disappointed. Maybe. I probably created that look in my head. But he’s been going on and on about how proud he is of me, how I have a strength of will that I’ve never had before, how great my ass looks, etc. etc. etc. I know it’s meant to be supportive, but my GOD, the pressure. I feel it all the time now. Last night, I wandered through Target, starving, torturing myself by going down the candy aisle. Not masochism, just wondering if there was a brand of chocolate in their stock that I could eat. The answer is no, by the way.

Anyway, because the candy aisle wasn’t enough torture, I hit the frozen section. I was looking longingly at the frozen burritos when the fat chick that will always live inside of me whispered, “I could really go for a Taco Bell burrito right now.”

That bitch.

But I pictured my husband’s face. The betrayed hope. The head shake that he never, ever does, but that I can see nevertheless. How much of that is me, transferring my own guilt onto him? I honestly do not know.

Instead, I picked up a package of Apple Farms salami, which wasn’t strictly Paleo, but a treat. I ate half of it on the way home.

And today, I’m down a pound. Yay, me.

But I’m still wrestling with my guilt, my feeling of responsibility and need for my husband to be proud of me. Stuffing down the resentment caused by a single look I’m not even sure I read right. My head, it is a bizarre and troubled place sometimes. I’ll work through it, I know. (I think) But for now, it’s one foot in front of the other, trying not to look back at the delicious, indulgent, comfortable place I’ve left.