Thursday, May 05, 2011
Stupid toe (ingrown toenail from hell, I have a photo but I will spare you the ick) was not fixed this morning at the urgent care, but they did give me an antibiotic which should make it quit hurting in ten days or so, while the actual problem worsens. So the nail will still be growing into my flesh, but I can take comfort in knowing said Satan nail will not be infected while it does so. I'm such a nurse, while I sat on their exam table, fuming, I called the podiatrist who gave me an appointment for actual care.
Thankfully, Wonderful Podiatrist took pity on me and the lack of help I got today at Urgent Care, and got me in this afternoon. However, he made an argument not to do anything until tomorrow, because he wants more antibiotic running through my bloodstream and because I am on call until 0800 tomorrow. It seems the location of evil nail makes a bone infection easy to come by and working after having it fixed is not a good plan. Three visits to the doctor in 26 hours. Ugh. That's going to cost some moolah.
So, I won't be able to exercise after the procedure as the toe will be bandaged and packed with drugs (I also hope to be pleasantly gorked out on whatever pain meds are in the drawer of drugs that I refuse to throw away after the original reason for them ceases to exist).
That means another pool morning! WOOT. Maybe I'll do 1,500 yards instead of 1,000 tomorrow. I'm already wearing my smaller suit. I have a big suit and a small suit, big suit is too big!! Can't wait until I HAVE to shop at Speedo! My pool mp3 player is irritating me (only working in one ear) but half disco is better than no disco at all. The Pet Shop Boys are surprisingly good swim tunes.
So, here is what freaks me out about the gnarly toe. It isn't knowing that this procedure could cause 10 out of 10 pain (that just makes me queasy) because the pain will pass and Mr. Toe will be all better and this will never happen ever again on that toe (thank you Wonderful Podiatrist).
I'm truly afraid that I may not be able to exercise for a few days. I think not exercising for a few days was the kiss of death pretty much every time I have fallen off a diet. It gets easier to not workout after you've already made excuses for 3 days or 5 days or 10. After a while, you have no expectation of gymming whatsoever, you don't even feel guilty about not going because it wasn't on the radar.
I have this forward momentum right now that I don't want to lose. I even got what I suspect is runner's high today, although I got it from swimming. I was like the energizer bunny, bouncing off the walls, chipper, talking too fast, etc. I like that. Mega Endorphin rush. I had to work my ass off to get it, I earned that fun little high and I'm not willing to give it up.
I don't even like taking Sundays off and only did so last week because of peer pressure. You need a day off, your body needs rest, your body needs to recover, blah blah blah. I guess SparkGuy didn't hear that, because he's planning a 1,000 day streak. You need to take a day off ranks right up there with the fabulous "you're not eating enough" on my kiss my ass-0-meter. I need to get addicted to exercise. I'm already addicted to no dairy, simply because I hate the way I feel, sinus drainage etc, whenever I eat any.
I refuse to fall off this path. I REFUSE. This time is not going to be like all of the last times, if I have to sit my butt in a chair and do Miss Manly's (Jillian Michaels) workouts seated, I will. I refuse to hate myself for another week or month or year. I refuse to wake up and look in the mirror and think to myself that I am disgusting. I'm done fueling my high fructose corn syrup addiction instead of nurturing my body. I am done having a hate hate relationship with myself. I'm done being my harshest critic. I wouldn't talk to a dead dog the way I talked to myself before getting on program.
Getting on track and going to bed tired, knowing I've done many things to head in the right direction, knowing that I have done right by my body, is the only way I want to end my day.
Stupid Toe, you will NOT get in my way. I will continue to lose pounds and inches, I will continue to work out and I will not fail this time. This time IS different, not just because I say so, but because my actions talk louder than my words. This time IS different. PERIOD. I will not stay 293 pounds. WILL NOT.
Thursday, May 05, 2011
My toe hurts so bad that I can barely walk. I have an ingrown toenail (I self-diagnosed). It hurt some yesterday, today there is mega hurt and pus. No treadmill this morning, I'd probably fall off of it.
I can't get in at the podiatrist, so I will have to go to urgent care and they don't open until 9.
This is going to hurt. A lot. I already feel queasy just thinking about it. I guess I will have to swim this morning instead of doing mileage on the hamster wheel.
P.S. In better news, I'm down 4 ounces today to a new low of 293 even. I'm utterly in amazement of myself today, going to the pool because I can't walk well, accepting no excuses not to exercise, etc. I really am transforming, inside and out.
Wednesday, May 04, 2011
So the scale went from 293 to 300 in two days, leading me to have a bit of a freak out.
Today, I am back at 293 and have learned my lessons. PMS does weird things. Period. No pun intended. It is time to weigh in less frequently. Most importantly, if you don't like what the scale says, get moving.
Overly simplified a diet is this: input - output = loss or gain
Input: My food intake is pretty much as low as I dare go calorie wise even though I am never hungry and eat huge portions of food. I literally couldn't eat any cleaner most days without existing on organic brocolli, steamed brown rice and an organic orange every day. So if anything, I need to eat more, not less.
That leaves output. Yesterday I did my usual 65 minutes on the treadmill (3.6 miles) and then after work, I did an hour Zumba class with a friend. This AM I swam 1,000 yards because I chafed by inner thighs so much yesterday that there was no way in H-E-Double Toothpicks that I was going to willingly rub them together for an hour today.
End result? One of this months goals has been met (taking a new class), my weight is back where it was (panic begone!), I no longer fear the two a day workout, and I'm half way to the yardage I want to be doing before joining a Master's swim team.
So here is today's question:
How often do you weigh in? How often is enough to keep you motivated and on track, but not too frequently to be demoralizing? Do you skip the scale and use another form of measuring progress?
Tuesday, May 03, 2011
Things have really changed. No longer am I chowing down on enough food to maintain 311 pounds, I'm now eating portions that someone who wants to be healthy would eat!
This is my dinner.
This may sound silly, but it seemed really decadent to me. 3 ounces of avocado, 1 ounce of pine nuts, 8 ounces of fingerling potatoes sprinkled with herbs and 8 ounces of tofu.
Not only did this seem like the height of naughty eating, even though it really was not, I couldn't finish it. I gave the leftovers to the kids (see my photos to see my great dane babies, Remy and Scooter).
Tuesday, May 03, 2011
I went to the gym today, not because I wanted to, but by sheer force of will.
I've gained 7 lbs in the last 48 hours. (Please let it be PMS. PLEASE.) I was good this weekend. I watched friends come to my house to eat and I did not have a morsel of filet mignon, butter, lobster, baguette, or any of the other stuff we soaked in butter. I had nummy steamed green beans, nummy tofu, nummy fingerling potatoes, and I didn't feel like I was missing out at all, because hanging and eating with friends was the point, not what I ate. (I'm learning!)
Inevitably, this gain leads to me wondering if I really have broken my body, if my initial success was just a fluke, and the weight will not come off EVER. I wonder if I'm destined to be fat forever, bouncing between 300 and 293 ad nauseum. I wonder if my goal weight is just a giant cosmic joke and that I will be destined to shop at Land of the Giants (Lane Bryant) for the rest of my life.
My analytical brain says keep going, this will work. My emotional brain says I'm a failure and I really need a Snickers.
This morning I put my faith in physics. I mean seriously, I weigh 300 (sob) pounds today, surely eating incredibly healthfully and doing my 65 minutes on the treadmill HAS to work. I got this much fat moving and covered 3.5 miles in 65 minutes. I even jogged for 45 seconds. It may not work this very instant, but over time, how could it not? Decreased calories, increased activity = weight loss. At least for the parts of the world bound by the laws of physics, which does not, apparently, include my gut.
So this morning at 0545 I listened to my analytical side and I got out of bed, drove to the gym in this crappy weather and trudged up the stairs of doom that I loathe so very much and got on the treadmill. I will do the same tomorrow, and the next day and the next. If I don't lose weight, I will adjust, reevaluate and keep going. I don't have a choice. I am done hating myself, I'm done with the negative self talk, I'm done with aching and wearing a size 24.
Scale be damned, I'm in this for the long haul. Wow. I've either lost my mind or I really am serious this time. I like it!
PS. How much weight do you typically gain (very personal question, I know) when you reach the part of the month that makes you gain weight? My emotional brain is still clinging to the possibility that this is PMS related.
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