She came back. After a year and a half of hard work, determination, and dedication to a true lifestyle change, somehow, someway, she found her way back.
I like-a-da foods.
She started creeping her way back in about two weeks ago. It started innocently enough: I ran 9 miles today, so I can have a slice of pizza tonight. I ran 10 miles this morning, so I can have some cake. And beer. No…beers…plural. I thought I could handle a few treats here and there. The truth is, I can handle a few treats here and there. Unfortunatlely that’s not what I was doing. She came back and tried to eat the world. Instead of a slice of wedding cake for a special occasion, she took me to the store for a bag of chocolate covered mini-donuts. I had run 12 miles. I could eat donuts if I wanted. At least, that’s what I thought…
I ate the whole damn bag. Every last one. Over a thousand calories and a belly ache later, I couldn’t fathom what I had just done.
Yep. That happened.
This week at work was a nightmare. I was feeling busy, overwhelmed, under appreciated, and exhausted. So exhausted that I thought I surely must be sick. Nope. No fever, no cough, no symptoms….just t-i-r-e-d, tired! I only ran two nights last week, and only a few miles at a time. 😦 I also ate well during the day, but pigged out at night (in addition to the whole not running thing).
I was feeling a little lousy–emotionally and physically because of the week I had, and as a result, I spiraled out of control this weekend.
On Friday, I ate well during the day and then had junk all night. Junk-junk. Like, not even real food-junk.
On Saturday, we went to a Civil War Reenactment.
(Photo cred to my awesomely talented friend Rheanna Wolk)
It was a lot of fun, but really hot. We stopped in the little town nearby and ate. Instead of a healthy salad, I had the catfish platter, fries, slaw, and an appetizer of jalapeno poppers. Later that night, we went out for frozen custard, and then came home and had creamy chicken enchiladas. We did a lot of walking, and I had run 1.5 miles that morning, but still…how disappointing.
Today, I got up knowing I was going to overeat. Not just overeat…overeat bad food. Stuff I normally wouldn’t touch. I had Fruity Pebbles for breakfast (what a waste of calories). We needed to run to the mall, so I had a huge pretzel there…with cheese sauce. On the way home, we stopped for custard again. Her idea. It was sooo good, but sooo out of my calorie allowance for the day.
While at the mall I got measured (34-friggin’DDD) and tried on a BRAzillion bras at Victoria’s Secret. I bought two that kinda-sorta worked, came home to try them on again, and decided they weren’t for me. They just weren’t supportive, and I need that in my life. I took them off, told my husband, “I hate……….my body!”, and sobbed while hiding under my covers. Poor guy came in to console me (I’m usually super level headed, not crazy hormonal, and pretty confident in my awesomeness these days, but today was…off).
I told him that it wasn’t fair that I worked so hard for so long, and I STILL can’t shop at a normal store. I shouldn’t have to go to a specialty bra shop. I should just be able to walk in and shop off the rack. But I can’t. The sad thing is that even though I measure at a 34DDD at VS or a 32FF at Ann’s Bra Shop, my chest looks small. My husband says so. My co-workers say so. I just don’t understand. I continued to cry and tell him that I was ugly. Fat. Deformed. It was a regular hatefest.
While I sobbed and whined about how disgusting I felt and how it just wasn’t fair…boo hoo…what I think I was really saying was I can’t believe I ate all that, why didn’t I run more this week, why didn’t I log my food, how could I have worked so hard for so long, just to let her come back again.
I had my binge. I had my cry. I had my feel-sorry-for-myself moment. Tomorrow is a new day, and it’s time to pick up the pieces and move on. I am NOT ugly. I am NOT deformed. I am most certainly NOT fat. I had a moment…and that’s all. An ugly moment, and it’s over now.
This is who I really am:
Happy, healthy, beautiful momma!
I’m gorgeous. I’m strong. I’m happy and healthy. I ran 12 freaking miles last weekend, and I’m running 13 point freaking 1 miles next weekend. I’m a rockstar…to myself…to my husband…to my kids…to others around me!
In fact, an old acquaintance reached out to me via facebook just yesterday. She had lap band surgery 2 years ago. It failed. She recently had it drained and is looking into a healthier lifestyle…and contacted….ME! Said I was an inspiration. Wow, okay. Me? Wow.
My son told me on Friday that I was “kinda like a teen”. I asked how, and he said “because teens are just a little bit smaller than a real adult, and usually in really good fit (shape/fitness).” I look good, I feel good, and I love that people notice. I had a moment of weakness….don’t we all…and now that moment is over, and I will be my strong, courageous, and inspirational self again tomorrow morning!
I can’t wait to be me! See ya on the flip side!