Most Awesome Random Quote of The Day:
"You don't want me to have one cold, achy foot and one warm, non-achy foot, do you?"
"There's other things that matter more to me, I must say."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Wow, I really dropped that "updating on a regular basis" thing pretty well, didn't I? Man, I am awesome.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Two things have happened since the year started. First, I finally got back on the Eat Right and Work Out More bandwagon. Between August and December, I was pretty much just not caring at all about things like grocery shopping and eating right and exercising on a regular basis. Instead, I was pretty much preoccupied with trying to keep myself from losing my fucking mind.
But I am back! On track! I am so back on track that the other morning I was at the gym early enough for me to appear in the background during the live feed for a local news station's morning show. In a moment of ultimate meta-ness, I was watching myself work out on the elliptical (from behind even, woo, go M's Ass!) while I was on the elliptical thanks to the TVs on every cardio machine. Craziness, I tell you. I don't want other people watching me work out, why would I want to watch myself?
Anyway, I'm back to Counting Points, which...gah. You know, Weight Watchers is a really good program that really does work for me, but only if I really do follow it and man, I hate making myself accountable. There's just something poopy about writing things down so that later on I can look back and go "Hey, look! I ate pizza and a canoli and promptly passed out in a food coma!" But hey, having to keep track of it makes me think twice about everything I eat since man, do I really want to admit it aftwerwards?
The answer to that is a resounding no. The reason for that is simple. I've always been a secret binger. God, when I think about the loaves of bread I scarfed down after turning them into perfect cinnamon toast. Or the entire pies that would disappear within a matter of 48 hours. The nights when dinner consisted of an order of Papa John's cheese sticks and a pint of Ben & Jerry's. None of that happened in front of anyone, it was always at home in my apartment by myself. No throwing up, just binging. But having to write it down, even though no one sees it but me...it makes me stop. I don't want to admit to anyone, least of all myself, that I can indeed eat a dozen cupcakes in one night if I put my mind to it. So I stop myself more often if I know I'm going to have to log it once I eat it. Sometimes I hate it, because I despise feeling guilty for eating something that tastes great but goes straight to my ass. Food is not something to feel guilty about.
But I don't own a scale. I don't weigh myself ever. The only time my weight is noted is when I go into the meetings or when I go to my doctor's office. They have this "free pass" that allows you to skip your weigh in if you know you've overindulged that week, but I never use them. If I've been eating crappy, I want to see what kind of damage I've done. It's the only way to keep me from continuing the behavior. Nothing else does.
It really pisses me off that I am this warped about food. I hate that it's a daily struggle for me not to gorge myself on Twix bars or Entenmann's coffee cake. I could go on for days about how stupid it is for me to have to struggle like this because I *know* what's good and right and makes my body work best, and it's not sitting on the couch scratching my ass after eating a pint of ice cream.
I'm sure that I would benefit from some actual therapy to deal with my food issues. I know I have some serious emotional baggage hanging around and making it harder for me to deal with this, but I just don't want to let this become some "I'm fat because my daddy abandoned me" kinds of things. I'm fat because I spent years eating too much and exercising too little, and it's time for me to change it. Sometimes I catch myself daydreaming about getting the lap band surgery, doing it the easy (ha ha) way. But nothing would change if I did that. I would still have the same goddamned issues, just with a smaller ass.
I'm really lucky, you know. I'm in amazingly good health for someone as heavy as I am. Nowhere close to diabetic, good blood pressure, perfect cholesterol ratio. No joint pain or bone spurs or other physical discomforts caused by my weight. I'm able to be physically active on a daily basis and the stairs at work don't bother me, even when I'm in 3 inch heels.
But that does not matter. What matters is that I have a truly dysfunctional relationship with food, and I need to fix it. Goddess willing, the fixing will stick better this year.
"You don't want me to have one cold, achy foot and one warm, non-achy foot, do you?"
"There's other things that matter more to me, I must say."
Wow, I really dropped that "updating on a regular basis" thing pretty well, didn't I? Man, I am awesome.
Two things have happened since the year started. First, I finally got back on the Eat Right and Work Out More bandwagon. Between August and December, I was pretty much just not caring at all about things like grocery shopping and eating right and exercising on a regular basis. Instead, I was pretty much preoccupied with trying to keep myself from losing my fucking mind.
But I am back! On track! I am so back on track that the other morning I was at the gym early enough for me to appear in the background during the live feed for a local news station's morning show. In a moment of ultimate meta-ness, I was watching myself work out on the elliptical (from behind even, woo, go M's Ass!) while I was on the elliptical thanks to the TVs on every cardio machine. Craziness, I tell you. I don't want other people watching me work out, why would I want to watch myself?
Anyway, I'm back to Counting Points, which...gah. You know, Weight Watchers is a really good program that really does work for me, but only if I really do follow it and man, I hate making myself accountable. There's just something poopy about writing things down so that later on I can look back and go "Hey, look! I ate pizza and a canoli and promptly passed out in a food coma!" But hey, having to keep track of it makes me think twice about everything I eat since man, do I really want to admit it aftwerwards?
The answer to that is a resounding no. The reason for that is simple. I've always been a secret binger. God, when I think about the loaves of bread I scarfed down after turning them into perfect cinnamon toast. Or the entire pies that would disappear within a matter of 48 hours. The nights when dinner consisted of an order of Papa John's cheese sticks and a pint of Ben & Jerry's. None of that happened in front of anyone, it was always at home in my apartment by myself. No throwing up, just binging. But having to write it down, even though no one sees it but me...it makes me stop. I don't want to admit to anyone, least of all myself, that I can indeed eat a dozen cupcakes in one night if I put my mind to it. So I stop myself more often if I know I'm going to have to log it once I eat it. Sometimes I hate it, because I despise feeling guilty for eating something that tastes great but goes straight to my ass. Food is not something to feel guilty about.
But I don't own a scale. I don't weigh myself ever. The only time my weight is noted is when I go into the meetings or when I go to my doctor's office. They have this "free pass" that allows you to skip your weigh in if you know you've overindulged that week, but I never use them. If I've been eating crappy, I want to see what kind of damage I've done. It's the only way to keep me from continuing the behavior. Nothing else does.
It really pisses me off that I am this warped about food. I hate that it's a daily struggle for me not to gorge myself on Twix bars or Entenmann's coffee cake. I could go on for days about how stupid it is for me to have to struggle like this because I *know* what's good and right and makes my body work best, and it's not sitting on the couch scratching my ass after eating a pint of ice cream.
I'm sure that I would benefit from some actual therapy to deal with my food issues. I know I have some serious emotional baggage hanging around and making it harder for me to deal with this, but I just don't want to let this become some "I'm fat because my daddy abandoned me" kinds of things. I'm fat because I spent years eating too much and exercising too little, and it's time for me to change it. Sometimes I catch myself daydreaming about getting the lap band surgery, doing it the easy (ha ha) way. But nothing would change if I did that. I would still have the same goddamned issues, just with a smaller ass.
I'm really lucky, you know. I'm in amazingly good health for someone as heavy as I am. Nowhere close to diabetic, good blood pressure, perfect cholesterol ratio. No joint pain or bone spurs or other physical discomforts caused by my weight. I'm able to be physically active on a daily basis and the stairs at work don't bother me, even when I'm in 3 inch heels.
But that does not matter. What matters is that I have a truly dysfunctional relationship with food, and I need to fix it. Goddess willing, the fixing will stick better this year.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home