Some sort of miracle...

Yesterday a co-worker was celebrating her birthday and as I walked throught the office she offered me a piece of the cake another co-worker had made for her.  The  sheet cake was covered by aluminum foil so I couldn't see what kind it was.

I automatically declined and thanked her, but because I just love to torture myself I aked her what kind it was.  I should have known, since she is as obsessed as I am, and she gave me a little smile and said "peanut butter!"  I made some sort of statement about it killing me and moved on.  But as I went about my business and came back through, she had sliced off a piece for someone and it sat there taunting me.

Seeing me look at it, my friend offered to cut me a "very small" piece.  I again declined and ran back to my office to hide before my self-control abandoned ship.

Now I'm not going to blow smoke up anyone's ass here - I wanted a piece of cake.  But in something that was nothing short of a miracle I was ok not having a piece.  It didn't turn into a THING.

This is what usually happens under these circumstances.  I would go back to my office and obsessively think about the free delicious cake in the other room.  I would try to rationalize why it would be ok to eat it.  I would do some calorie math in my head.  I would be angry at myself and feel sorry for myself.

Then I would either cave and eat a piece - which then would lead to guilt and shame, or I wouldn't eat a piece and be all pity party about it.  

Instead I just kind of went on with my life like a normal human.  It sounds crazy to equate this to being a miracle, but really it kind of is!! As pathetic as it may sound.

I'd like to believe this is a sign of a healthier and more normal relationship with food, but I'm inclined to believe I just got lucky(?) that circumstances made me feel that way at that moment in time.

So help me, though, if I stand on the scale tommorow morning and haven't dropped.....

The more things change...

The more they stay completely and maddingly the same!!

When I was in my first phase of dropping pounds, I would talk to someone or read an online post where the person would say that they were eating less or exercising more and the scale wasn't moving.  I would think to myself that it was bullshit - if you expend more calories than you take in, you lose weight, period.

But it seems as if this is the hell I am living in right now.  When I stepped on the scale Friday I was exactly the same weight that I have been since January.  I have bounced between a pound up or down, but pretty much am what I was.

How is this possible??   I know that - for sure - I am eating less than I was last fall.  The not snacking on peanut butter after work ALONE has to be at least 200 calories per day.  And having increased my running should be showing some results.

My body, apparently, disagrees.

So my addict brain immediately said " Well, fuck this! If I`m putting in all this effort and nothing is happening I might as well just do whatever the hell I want - it's not like it will make a differnece!!"

I didn't throw it all out the window, but I really wanted to.

Having faith that hard work will eventually pay off - whether we're talking about diet and exercise, or a career choice, or lots of other things in life - is super hard when you feel like you're not seeing any results at all.  

What I tried to remember this weekend is that the benefits that my body is getting from the exercise and eating right is there - whether the scale shows it or not.  My heart and lungs and skin and liver and everything else that I can't see on the outside thanks me.

As if to send home this point, the results of a study were published last week.  So maybe my outward appearance isn't that great - but my immune system is  sexy as fuck!!!

http://www.bbc.com/news/health-43308729

I hate me, too!

I have really been working on ramping up my running miles.  I continue to be painfully slow, but I am running a lot of miles.  Since the beginning of the year I have run every day with the exception of January 3rd.

Now mind you, most of these miles have been treadmill miles.  There is definite value in these miles but they just don't compare with the toughness - for me anyway - of running outside.  Remarkably I am ( knock on the biggest piece of wood ever) injury free.  I think this is a first, as I ALWAYS seem to have some injury.  I told Marc I just want to run while I can - without pain and feeling good.  Because historically I find a way to get hurt.

So I'm putting in about 50 miles or more a week.  And still trying to bike and lift weights.  Friday there was a storm and work was closed, so I got in 10 miles.  Another 10 on Saturday and 13 on Sunday.

Backing up, I should let you know that Saturday was Marc and my 13th wedding anniversary.  We had a gift certificate for Texas Roadhouse.  I wish I could tell you I ate sensibly, but I did not.  I could brag about choosing corn and salad as my side dishes, but I would also need to confess the amount of their amazing rolls I scarfed or the number of peanuts I ate...

I managed to only feel somewhat guilty.  

Lunch time arrived today and it was pretty chilly outside but mostly sunny.  I knew I should get outside and run but I really didn't want to. Finally I convinced myself to just get out and start.  My legs felt heavy and the whole time I was strugging physically and mentally.  I decided to call it when I arrived back towards work at only just over 4 miles.  Complete with self-recriminations about sucking at life and giving up.

As I was turning off my watch and taking off my headphones, I see someone who works in the next building who I interact with quite a bit.  She looks at me and growls "I HATE YOU!!!" I expressed shock and then, of course, she went on to say how it made her feel guilty seeing me finishing up a run.

It is all relative, isn't it? What is success to one person is failure to another.  It shows that we all face our own demons.  In fact I was just talking with someone about that... to be continued...