Monday, February 28, 2011
Wah. Wah. WAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH11
Oh, well. Oh, well. Oh, well.
I'm over it now. Up a pound from last week, just like Beck told me was possible. With the exception of eating those roasted veggies standing up (could not have been even 300 calories, probably less than half that) I was completely compliant with the program all week: measuring food, within calorie range, exercising diligently.
So be it. My ticker is changed. I've graphed it in my workbook. The scales will come down again. And lower. Yes they will.
Beck is launching into a week of solving "real life" problems -- the first of which is dealing with food pushers.
Food pushers are not too much of a problem for me, really. I refuse to socialize with people who make me eat. I refuse to entertain people who require to be fed elaborately in my home. I would prefer social events to be focused on something other than eating: a trip to an art gallery, or a play, or out shopping, or to the gym, or a walk in the woods, or a cross country ski, or golfing. There are lots of terrific options. Then I'm happy to pick up the cheque in a restaurant afterwards and my guest is certainly encouraged to order whatever he or she wants -- so long as I am accorded the same respect about what I choose to eat for myself. Which will be soup, or a salad. And fruit or yogourt if available. And black coffee. Lots of that.
But I'm not going to eat stuff I don't want to make someone happy. Which includes treats brought into work (fortunately, something that doesn't occur very often) or boxes of doughnuts from Tim Horton's delivered by grateful clients. Sorry if it hurts your feelings . . . really , I am sorry . . . but it's not just the calories at the time, it's the "trigger" effect of the fats/sugars/salts.
Would you force alcohol on an alcoholic? No? Then don't expect me to eat what I've decided already is not good for me. The fact that my breast cancer was a high estrogen tumour associated with excess weight, and that my chances of recurrence go up with an increase in weight: that to me is my paramount reason for weight control. I'm not going to force that uncomfortable explanation on someone in a social situation -- but just accept the "No thanks". "Looks great, but no thanks". "Not just now, thanks". Because I am. Not. Eating. It.
Card Four: "It's OK to disappoint people".
Yup, it is. And although dealing with food pushers is not a problem for me, their response can be.
I'm generally very friendly and sociable. People generally like me and I generally like people. But my refusal to eat socially in the conventional manner can be a stumbling block. It puzzles people. Espcially people who are themselves overweight and perceive me as thin. And who perceive my self control around eating as a rebuke or criticism of them.
They want to order the greasy fries or the ooey gooey nachos or whatever -- and they feel uncomfortable because I'm not. I've lost friends over my refusal to be compelled to participate in social eating situations.
Too bad. That's the way it is, and the way it has been for a very very long time. I'm not available for stuffing. It's not my idea of a good time, and submitting to force feeding doesn't cohere with my notion of what constitutes friendship. If you make me choose between your company, and my adherence to my eating plan: well, sorry, but that choice has already been made. NO CHOICE.
And it won't be you, babe.