Monday, May 03, 2010
The last two days have been a nightmare, foodwise. I've eaten everything that I shouldn't, nothing that I should, and not a single serving of fruit in the last 48 hours. To put it plainly, I've been binging.
It all culminated today with a trip to my favorite teriyaki shop, followed by a pit stop for 'snacks', consisting of a box of frozen potato skins, mini Red Baron pizzas, a chunk of fudge cake, Grandma's cookies, a bag of Pepperidge Farm snickerdoodles, a Hostess apple pie, ding-dongs, no less than 3 candy bars, and an energy drink.
...Apparently I thought I'd need some caffeine to stay conscious through the dual sugar- and fat-coma.
And I fully intended to eat it all. The Grandma's cookies never made it out of the car, they were eaten on the trip home. The teriyaki, which I had planned when I thought about getting it 3 days ago to split into 3 or 4 portions, was all eaten, except for a ball of rice and a few slices of chicken. The energy drink was cracked open and chugged.
And then, not at all helped by the residual tummyache I had from my dinner of Coldstone and a restaurant (i.e. suitable for 3 people) serving of pot roast and mashed potatoes, the nausea set in. My stomach began to hurt. My head went fuzzy.
And yet, I still thought to myself, 'well, let your stomach settle. You'll have room later!'
A few seconds later, I took a mental double-take. Who the #*&@ was this chick, drowning herself in sugar and lard on a sunny spring afternoon? Who the @#$( did she think she was, ruining all of my efforts over the last month?
Sure, maybe I haven't put in 110%, or even 100%, or even 75% a lot of days. But any effort is better than a big fat 0. And any attempt to try and incorporate a little exercise and keep my calories under control is better than sitting on my expanding butt and snarfing on food that doesn't even TASTE good (well, with the exception of those potato skins- they have bacon. Everything will taste good if you sprinkle on bacon.)
And here I was, throwing it all away. And for what? A temporary sugar high followed by a huge crash? And ever-worsening stomachache? The taste of crappy, fake, preservative and chemical laden food?
I know exactly why I was doing it, though I couldn't admit it when I felt the binge coming on.
I'm just upset. My family's having a bit of a rough time, because two of our beloved cats are having to find new homes. My parents like animals. ...I LOVE animals. When I was 7 years old, I could flip through any one of my 5 encyclopedias of cat and dog breeds and name off every breed without even glancing at the page heading. I could take one look at a mutt and, 95% of the time, decipher exactly what kind of mix it was. By the time I was 12, I had dreams of showing dogs, training them for agility and obedience trials. I spent my afternoons teaching the animals new tricks, and my evenings watching Animal Planet. My reading list consisted of Where the Red Fern Grows, Julie of the Wolves, A Dog Named Kitten. My favorite movie has always been The Lion King- all animals, no pesky people.
And now, at 19? I've given it all up. I had dreams of showing dogs, of being a vet, of joining the military so I could work with K-9 units. And then, something changed. I just... Stopped caring.
See, we've had issues with keeping animals. The first sign of a behavior problem, and my parents are off like a flash, moving the animals out the door to new homes. Every time, I've had a meltdown. To date, we've rehomed 4 dogs, one rabbit, and now 2 cats. The last dog? His name was Bonsai. He was a Maltese, and he was the first dog we've had who has been MINE. I raised him, I learned how clicker-training worked when my parents said we couldn't afford obedience school, I knitted him little sweaters to wear during the winter so that he wouldn't be cold, I brushed and ponytailed his topknot, gelling the little short hairs back so they wouldn't be in his eyes.
And before today, I could never admit that every single animal that we've rehomed, I've felt like it's been MY fault. Bonsai most of all. Because I'm the animal lover. I'm the one that everyone turns to when they see a dog being walked and want to know what kind it is, or can't remember which breed of cat it is that has no fur. I'm supposed to be the one with all the answers. I'm the 'next dog whisperer', who's supposed to be able to sit down and have a stern talk with the dog, and have every behavior issue disappear just like that.
And every animal we've rehomed, I've failed. I couldn't fix the problem. I couldn't love them enough, I wasn't good enough. Because as much as I might blame my parents for all of the furry friends I've lost, I can accept now that I'm also to blame. I didn't FIGHT. I just stood by, and when my parents said that it had gone too far, whether it was the messing in the house or the barking or the picking fights with other animals, I just accepted that as a simple statement of my failure. When they said that animal had to go, it meant that I couldn't do anything more, and that I hadn't been good enough.
And ultimately? Bonsai was my decision. My dog, my decision. Sure, my mom made a point for months to point out every mess he made in the house to me, wearing me down bit by bit. But it was ME who didn't put in the extra effort to make sure he was walked and entertained and loved. And it was ME who finally said "Enough is enough. He needs a new home."
And now, in less than a week two cats have been, not rehomed, sent to the POUND. Because I couldn't find a solution. Because I wasn't GOOD enough. Because I couldn't save them.
I have one cat and one dog now. My mother has promised me that my cat, who is turning 13 this year, is immune to any efforts to find a new home for him.
She made no promises about the dog.
He's developed a habit of running off to the neighbor's house, which my parents are at their wits' end to stop.
They've asked me, not in so many words but in their glances and implications and mentions of how much I've always loved training the dogs, to step in.
This dog is my best friend. And now his fate is on me.
And I don't know if I can do it.
So I've been doing my best to stay calm, to pretend that none of this is affecting me, that I don't care that the cats are gone, that my love of animals has faded over the years, that I don't still get too attached, too fast.
I've been pretending to be unfazed by their request. I've been pretending that I don't really care if this dog, too, is removed from my life.
And so, my mind has been clouding. I've been sleeping my days away. I've been slowly losing my motivation and momentum for EVERYTHING, not just my efforts to get healthy. And so, yesterday, when the whim to have junk for lunch hit, I indulged it. When the idea to go get dinner and then ice cream entered my mind, I jumped at it. When I thought that just eating my leftover pot roast for breakfast today would be the easiest course, I just went with the flow. And when the idea that maybe teriyaki would be good for lunch, I jumped right on board. When I was driving by the grocery store and thought about how good their baked goods are, I pulled right into the parking lot and loaded my basket with the worst junk I could find. And when I started shovelling the food into my mouth, I didn't even think twice.
It wasn't until my stomach started to ache, until I looked at the shopping bags of food around my feet, food which didn't even make it to the cupboard, which I fully intended to simply eat straight out of the bags like some demented picnic basket, that I started to wake up.
I've been down this road before. Avoiding issues, becoming overwhelmed, leading to depression, and finally a binge which lasts maybe a meal, maybe a day, maybe 8 months. I've been down it over, and over, and over again. And it's time for me to stop the car, get out, and push it down the #*@(-ing embankment and walk, because it's time for this to END.
Brodie (our current mutt, who ISN'T going anywhere), finished my teriyaki for me. The candy's in the freezer. The cake and ding-dongs are in the trash, but I'm going to pull them out and make a nice chocolate-sugar soup out of them and flush it down the toilet. The rest of the junk is in the freezer and on my dad's sugar-stash shelf. If he doesn't eat it, it'll be doled out bit by bit.
Just because I wasn't good enough to keep the past from happening doesn't mean I'm not good enough to shape the future. What's past is past. But the person I am now is NOT the 7 year-old whose only friends were her pets (real and imaginary) and her books. I am NOT the 12 year-old, scorned by her classmates, who found solace in the pantry, the animals, and the television. I am ME. And I am strong enough to stand up for what I think is right.
I'm DONE with goodbyes. If my parents think that MY dog is going anywhere, they'll have to go through me first.
...And believe me, after the way I've been eating, there's plenty to go through.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Okay, okay. It's nothing so exciting as an actual RACE. But tonight, for the very first time, I actually walked a route that is exactly 5 km long. I can honestly say that I don't think I've ever walked that long of a distance in my LIFE without taking a break to rest.
And you know what? I barely even broke a sweat. I'll admit I wasn't pushing too terribly hard, but I did finish in exactly 50 minutes, which is about a 16.5 or 17 minute mile. Not too incredible, but not too shabby either, when I wasn't expecting to even make it through without taking a break.
I guess it helped that I brought my dog along. He wasn't about to give up, even though his tail was practically dragging on the sidewalk, so neither was I!
So. 3.1 miles. Apparently, I'm more than capable of doing it. So what's next? Shaving down that time, of course! I've made myself a promise that next year, on 5/1/11, I WILL be running a 5K benefiting the local humane society. My dog WILL be running next to me. Right now, he's my inspiration, and I know we can do this together!
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
I spent an hour today trying on every item in my closet and facing the music. You see, I'm what I like to call a 'hopeful shopper'. I refuse to buy clothes in my size, because I plan to lose weight, and what's the point of buying clothes that aren't going to fit in two months?
So instead, I buy the items that I really like in a size or two too small, because 'they'll fit me in a month or two'. And then I continue to wear the same crappy, outdated, or overworn clothes that I've BEEN wearing for far too long. And I continue to look in the mirror and be unhappy with what I see, not necessarily because I'm unhappy with my body image (though that's a big part of it), but because my clothes are just plain DEPRESSING.
So I eat, and sulk, and eat some more. And then I look at my closet, full of beautiful, too-small clothes, and have a chocolate bar to make myself feel better. And then I start gaining weight again, until absolutely NOTHING in my closet fits me anymore, much less the clothes I bought for that distant 'someday'.
But today I went through my overstuffed closet, item by item. About a quarter of the clothes hanging there were either utterly outdated, or far too young for me- think of what a 15 year-old girl would have worn four or five years ago, and that's a good portion of my closet right there. A large chunk of what was hanging there I had bought on a whim- a floaty top in a shimmery exotic print, a form-fitting shirt with a drapey turtleneck, a blouse that looks astonishingly like the upper portion of a naughty maid's costume (and bares enough cleavage to compete with one)- clothes that I had bought for the person I wanted to be, not the person that I was. Okay, the maid shirt I have no clue WHAT I was thinking, but let's not go there.
A good half of the items in my closet, shirts, pants, and coats alike, were at least two sizes too small. They're the clothes that I can remember trying on again and again over the last few years, thinking 'Maybe this time.', before taking one look in the mirror, hanging them back up, and leaving them there for a few more months.
Every one of those items, except for the one motivation outfit I have hanging on my closet door, are now in a box. I have taken a solemn vow not to touch that box until I lose another 15 lbs. Many of the items, like that flowy top, I have no plan of trying on until I feel that I'm kind of person who would WEAR them. My closet now holds a scant dozen shirts, about four pairs of jeans, several tank tops and sleep pants that I use for pajamas, and two pairs of sweatpants.
And yes, the naughty maid shirt is in my box of clothes to wear someday. I doubt I'll ever wear it out, but it's fun to put it on and laugh!
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Actually, it was two push-ups. I know, I know. It's not THAT big of a deal.
But growing up, I was always that girl in gym class. You know, the one who signs up for a weight lifting class full of senior boys just to avoid team sports in the regular gym class, only to discover that, woe is her, push-ups are a part of the warm-up exercises. Five. Days. A. Week. And on top of that, I was the girl who would try to do one push-up off of her toes, only to drop to her knees and manage about half of what we were told to do.
I passed that class with an A, probably only because the teacher felt sorry for me. Or maybe it was because I actually kicked butt lifting weights, it was just those stinking push-ups that got me every time!
In any case, I've never been able to do push-ups off of my toes. Maybe one or two a few years ago when I was at the very peak of my fitness (not saying much. I could bench press 90 lbs and that was about it.), but never before then, and certainly not since!
And now, I'm proud to say, I can do a whole two push-ups, no knees hitting the floor whatsoever! That and the fact that not only have I only been working on my upper body strength for about two weeks so far, but it'll only get easier as I drop more pounds, had me giggling in a heap on the floor after Push-Up #3 turned into a bit of a mess.
Baby steps are so much fun!
Thursday, April 08, 2010
So right now I'm not sure if I love or hate being female. I've slaved away (okay, maybe not nearly as hard as I could have) at eating healthily and doing at least a little exercise every day all week, and what do I have to show for it? 0.4 lbs lost. But I'll take it! I know that the ever-lovely TOM is to blame, and I'll probably see the numbers shoot down by this time next week, just like always happens!
And, on another positive note, at least my cycle's back. It's been 3 months since it last hit, and I'm thinking it's my body's way of telling me it's ready to drop to a lower weight. Every time I stay at one weight for too long, I skip a month or two. And then, as soon as I start losing again, even if it's just a couple pounds, back it comes until I plateau again! Weird, huh? Gotta love the human body's quirks!
Anyway, I just wanted to vent a little, because seeing a small number on the scale is always a little disappointing. But something's better than nothing, right?
Get An Email Alert Each Time SAYNOTOCOOKIES Posts