*** THUD, THUD, THUD, THUD, CRRRRREEEAAAAKKK… BOOM*** Hey y’all… here I am… the Abominable Blimp of Arbor Day Past. Kind of like the lesser known cuzzin of the Ghost of Christmas Past… except on Arbor Day, which no one celebrates and no one gets off from work for. So, basically it’s a title with the perks of being able to eat until you explode. Who wants to run for this prestigious office in the next election? I’m looking to get out of my gig.
This past week was a wash of epic proportions in the eating department… EPIC. I feel disgusting… all bloated and sick to my stomach… and much like I did every single day of my life 235 pounds ago. It’s no wonder I was always sick back in those days… I ate like a freaking garbage disposal. Food is fuel… which has still not totally registered in my noggin because despite feeling like a crapload of Kentucky Fried Chicken vats, I kept shoveling it in. Bad choices… bad quantities… and bad accountability. Did I mention I feel disgusting?
The good news in all of this… at least I recognize how disgusting I feel and why I feel the way I do. In the olden days, I don’t think if you hit me upside the skull with a baseball bat and told me I was bleeding, would I have recognized I was bleeding BECAUSE of the hit to the head with the baseball bat. I would have blamed everything else on the aching head wound. Global warming… Al Gore’s head… Count Chocula’s Salmonella outbreak. I never attributed my sad stomach and my general feeling of fatigue and disgustingness to my eating and non-exercising habits… it was always something else. Oh, I have irritable bowel syndrome. I’m allergic to lactose. OJ Simpson got away with murder. NEVER did I accept that it was because I ate too much sugar and too much fried fatty stuff and just too dang much. So, the good news in my epic week of epicness. I recognize why exactly I feel like a bloated toad… and I know what to do to turn that around.
The bad news… my confidence has been shaken… not stirred… and I don’t know if I have that gumption to get it done. There has been a recurring theme over the last several months. I’ll eat beautifully on the weekdays with my menu plan in place, but then Friday, Saturday, and Sunday show up and I think because I’ve eaten beautifully during the week, I DESERVE to have a “treat.” Which has always been my motto… even during the times when I was losing like gangbusters… but I meant it to be ONE treat on ONE weekend day… not 57 treats on every weekend day… which has stalled any progress I should be making from my strict regimen of eating and exercise during the week… and I guess lack of seeing any progress eventually weighs on a person… (WEIGHS… Bwahahahaha… get it?) and that lack of self confidence and self esteem creeps up faster than Richard Simmons at a TuTu convention.
The other good news… because the good days have evened out the bad, I have maintained my weight. No big gain to worry about taking off. I can just move on into new territory of kicking butt-dom. I REFUSE to let this thing lick me. The measure of a (wo)man is not in how many times she gets knocked down, it’s in how many times she gets the heck back up. I’m up… try to take me down for good and I’ll hit you in the head with a baseball bat. That’s right.
Question of the Day: What do you do to bring focus back when you’re struggling with something?