I have been trying to decide just how personal I would get on this blog. I mean, sure, weight loss and the raw true grit of it all is pretty personal. But when it comes to the components that make up my very blessed (and zany) life, I often feel like biting my tongue. That could simply be due to my oral fixation issues, or, as I call it, breathing. Or it could just be that I am shy and would hate to admit to the world that I am far from perfect.
It's true ladies and gents. I am with flaws.
There. I said it. That wasn't so bad.
This week has been the quintessential example of how far from perfect I am. I have spent the last few months eating pretty good. Salads, lots of protein, fruits, skim milk, complete cut down of alcoholic beverages, the avoidance of anything resembling a snickers bar, and eating 3-4 times a day. My body was finally becoming a well-oiled vehicle!
Last weekend, though, I decided to drag race this well-oiled vehicle off the road right into the sea of sabotage. And I can't swim. You can imagine it's quite a freakin miracle I am actually here to talk about it. In any event, here's what happened:
Last Friday around mid-day, I had a curve ball thrown at me. Prior to said ball, I had a great morning. I had worked out at 6am with AJ and had a pretty crazy, chaotic but productive few hours at work. I was kinda feelin pumped. Then, just like a douchy pitcher who had to prove a point, the curve ball came and hit me right in my head. I had found out some pretty disturbing news at work. News from unreliable sources that were potential rumors that could have been nothing more than speculations derived from a typo in an email from some intern in a different department. Therefore, it MUST be true, right?
I certainly thought it was. And I instantly became enraged. I sat in my cube for a good 60 minutes trying to figure out where life went wrong and why the hell I hadn't seen this curve ball coming my way. I was contemplating going to my second work out of the day (yep, I had scheduled two work outs that day because I was feeling motivated and excited the night before and because secretly I am perpetually on trial against my pansy self trying to prove to her that I have badass tendencies). Right away, however, the desire to go to workout went out the window. But I knew that, not only would I lose my deposit for the class, but I didn't want to let some stupid piece of information throw off my routine (and the deposit was $35 bucks. So, ok, it was more about the deposit than anything, but whatever. P.S.:I went to the class).
I had never worked out so hard in my life. I mean I made sure everybody in that class knew I was pissed. I felt like smoke was coming out of my nostrils and the flare that was brewing could not compare to any irate / overly abused bull in the obviously bored country of Spain (seriously, they can't entertain themselves with reality TV or something? Why the bull thing?!?)
After an hour of complete physical torture and cardio craziness, I left the class feeling somewhat less angry, and in a full on sweat. But I was still very perturbed. Additionally, I was now disoriented, light headed and somewhat clammy. Could anger have really driven me to this physical state of misery?
And then it occurred to me. I quickly looked at my cell phone for the time: 2:08pm. TWO OH EIGHT P.M.!!!! And I hadn't had any food that day. I had completely forgotten to eat. All day. I hadn't so much as had a piece of gum. With all the chaos of that morning and then finding out what I did, I let my body pay for my feelings of rage and had worked out NOT once, but twice. The fact that I was standing upright and not collapsed in front of the Duane Reade on the corner of 57th and 6th was an outright act of the Good Lord.
I quickly ran home (as I had a half day of work) and had me a light salad with some strawberries. Of course that wasn't enough since it was now about 3:30pm and all I had was greens, air, and a handful of fruit. My body would have bitched slapped me with a stiletto if she could have. Instead, I felt it was just the solution I needed. I went about the rest of the day taking a long nap. It's usually what I do when I am dealing with the blues.
I awoke around 7-ish to meet some friends for dinner. I remember distinctly not being very hungry, however, the moment when one of my pals suggested pizza, my mood went from this:
All of a sudden, it's all I wanted. It was as if Food was punishing me for forgetting our special bond, and now was gonna, not only make me pay for it, but was gonna make sure I would never ever forget her again. I got dressed with a haste and ran out to meet the crew. We all ended up walking over to Singa's pizza, which is like crack for the Carbohydrate addicts that can never say NO to enriched flour. Never.
I had me a regular (8 mini slices all to myself) plain pie with pineapple and spinach (because the canned fruit and two leaves of spinach make this VERY ok!!) and a Coke ZERO!! Um, now WHY isn't this healthy?!?!?
After dinner we caught the movie, "Horrible Bosses" and it was exactly what I needed to relieve the tension I had built up over finding out what I did at work. I decided I would have to commit homicide to make everything ok. I mean, the movie made it look funny, so obviously this is OK, right??
After the movie, we all decided to walk home, which was a good 25 minutes. It was a lovely night and the walk did me well. When I got home, I felt great because I now had a full tummy, a brewing plan of action involving wishful thinking and a potential class-A felony, and had done some cardio. All was ok.
Or so I thought.
My body treated the pizza indulgence just like the natives would treat an invading country threatening imperialism. Without welcome and with tremendous violent warfare.
I'll let the metaphor speak for itself.
Suffice it to say I didn't sleep much that night. Or for the rest of the weekend. I essentially spent the weekend and all through Tuesday recovering from my rendition of the War of 1812. And believe you me, Food ABSOLUTELY made her point.
This story sort of has a happy ending. As just like in any war, while they are horrendous moments, sad ramifications, and outright tears, there are also positive outcomes. I lost 2.6 pounds in what seemed like 5 minutes.
Weekly weigh-in: 157 lb.