Today was a trying day for me. Nothing seemed to go right at work, someone let me down that I totally shouldn't have been surprised at, and the day ended on a bit of a sour (and also unsurprising) note. All in all, it was a very disappointing day, and it shouldn't have been. Basically I set my expectations of others too high and, as usual, it bit me in my ass.
All I really wanted to do was come home, flop on my couch and veg out with some mindless television. But instead I put on my big girl panties (along with my sweats) and pushed play on the DVD remote. And started sweating.
I was about ten minutes into my combined sixty minutes of cardio when I stopped feeling sorry for myself and started to get mad. I was mad at the person who bailed on me today, but mostly I was mad at myself for being even a little bit surprised. And I was really mad that I was letting how I felt about the situation color my time outside of work. "Hells bells," I thought, "there isn't enough money in the world to let my job affect my lifestyle changes I'm trying to make!"
Funny thing about anger and frustration. Sometimes they can work to your advantage. I began to realize that the madder and more frustrated I got, the harder my body pushed itself. I became more focused, more driven and probably sweated more than I ever have in my life. And I finished strong, something I would have thought was unattainable a couple of weeks ago.
My husband says sixty solid minutes of cardio is a lot for anybody and wondered if I should really be doing that much. I told him that I was just following the plan and since I wasn't dead, it must be okay. Am I uncomfortable? Well, hell yes, I am! My clothes are damp as is my hair and I'm sore as hell. And although it's not even 8:00 at night, I feel like if my eyes close long enough to blink they'll remain that way for the rest of the night.
Here's the thing; nobody really cares if I succeed at this. And that's okay, since they're not the ones who let themselves go and have to listen to an inner skinny bitch and an outer fatty battle it out in their heads. I did that. And it doesn't matter that I'm not receiving praise and accolades from people whose opinion really doesn't matter to me anyway. The ones who do are matter are supportive enough, and the person whose opinion matters the most would completely give herself a pat on the back if her arms weren't too sore to lift.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Monday, January 14, 2013
The Guilt Complex
So, my co- worker and I were talking this morning about how her husband and I seem to have the same problem. We find something we like and gorge ourselves on it until we're either in a food coma and can't move or we are sick to our stomachs from the overindulgence. Another similarity we share is that we can't seem to stand watching food go uneaten on a plate, so we end up not only cleaning our own plates but everybody else's too.
Of course, the psychology student in me can't help but analyze this. Given the fact that her husband is quite a few years younger than me, I don't think it's a generational thing. So I asked a few probing questions about what his home life was like at meal time when he was growing up. See, I'm a firm believer that a good ninety percent, if not more, of our behavioral characteristics that we carry into adulthood stem from behaviors we learned as children. As a result, we carry these behaviors into adulthood, and even when we know they're wrong or undesirable, we continue to do them. They become habits, and sometimes, they're not good.
As it turns out, I was right. The similarities in her husband's and my eating habits stem from two entirely different scenarios. In her husband's case, if you didn't hurry up and get some food, you didn't eat. If you didn't like what was for dinner that night, too bad. Eat it, or starve.
My house was a bit different. Sure, the "eat it or starve" mentality was the same. However, I think sometimes my brother and I would rather have went without rather than eat what my mom cooked (especially the time she cooked an entire rainbow trout, head and all, and served it up like a gourmet dish). But we didn't leave the table until our plates were clean. As in, everything gone. Whether we liked it or not. I can still remember my brother sitting for what seemed like hours in front of a plate of cooked broccoli. I can't be sure but I'm relatively certain it was the only time he outlasted my parents.
See, I grew up in the "there are children starving in Africa" generation. Which means, I don't have a deep seated fear of running out of food. On the contrary, I feel guilty as hell watching it go to waste. I feel as if the least I can do for those poor starving kids in Africa is to not willingly waste what they have so little of, especially since, according to Mom, I can't box up my leftovers and send them over there (yes, I asked).
Do I know this is wrong? Sure, on some level, I guess I do. And while this knowledge did stop me from passing along food guilt to my son, it did not stop me from cleaning his plate for him.
I have Angel food cake in my kitchen as we speak. They were on sale, so I bought two (another compulsion of mine is to stock up on "two- fers", whether it's something I need or not). Right now it is killing me to think that one of those cakes is probably going to mold and go to waste if I don't get it eaten before that happens. I'm feeling the pressure to scarf the cake even though I don't particularly want it or need it.
But maybe, just maybe, my compulsion for two- fers can work in my favor this time. Maybe if I let the cake go to waste, I'll see that the world won't come to an end if the cake spoils. The little African kids will not be crying out in effigy, nor will they be forming a posse to come and string me up by my thumbs for wasting a perfectly good cake.
Of course, outer fatty is chanting "EAT THE CAKE! EAT THE CAKE!" as she pounds her fists on her flabby thighs in anger. And one again, the inner skinny bitch is flipping her the bird And sticking her tongue out.
Of course, the psychology student in me can't help but analyze this. Given the fact that her husband is quite a few years younger than me, I don't think it's a generational thing. So I asked a few probing questions about what his home life was like at meal time when he was growing up. See, I'm a firm believer that a good ninety percent, if not more, of our behavioral characteristics that we carry into adulthood stem from behaviors we learned as children. As a result, we carry these behaviors into adulthood, and even when we know they're wrong or undesirable, we continue to do them. They become habits, and sometimes, they're not good.
As it turns out, I was right. The similarities in her husband's and my eating habits stem from two entirely different scenarios. In her husband's case, if you didn't hurry up and get some food, you didn't eat. If you didn't like what was for dinner that night, too bad. Eat it, or starve.
My house was a bit different. Sure, the "eat it or starve" mentality was the same. However, I think sometimes my brother and I would rather have went without rather than eat what my mom cooked (especially the time she cooked an entire rainbow trout, head and all, and served it up like a gourmet dish). But we didn't leave the table until our plates were clean. As in, everything gone. Whether we liked it or not. I can still remember my brother sitting for what seemed like hours in front of a plate of cooked broccoli. I can't be sure but I'm relatively certain it was the only time he outlasted my parents.
See, I grew up in the "there are children starving in Africa" generation. Which means, I don't have a deep seated fear of running out of food. On the contrary, I feel guilty as hell watching it go to waste. I feel as if the least I can do for those poor starving kids in Africa is to not willingly waste what they have so little of, especially since, according to Mom, I can't box up my leftovers and send them over there (yes, I asked).
Do I know this is wrong? Sure, on some level, I guess I do. And while this knowledge did stop me from passing along food guilt to my son, it did not stop me from cleaning his plate for him.
I have Angel food cake in my kitchen as we speak. They were on sale, so I bought two (another compulsion of mine is to stock up on "two- fers", whether it's something I need or not). Right now it is killing me to think that one of those cakes is probably going to mold and go to waste if I don't get it eaten before that happens. I'm feeling the pressure to scarf the cake even though I don't particularly want it or need it.
But maybe, just maybe, my compulsion for two- fers can work in my favor this time. Maybe if I let the cake go to waste, I'll see that the world won't come to an end if the cake spoils. The little African kids will not be crying out in effigy, nor will they be forming a posse to come and string me up by my thumbs for wasting a perfectly good cake.
Of course, outer fatty is chanting "EAT THE CAKE! EAT THE CAKE!" as she pounds her fists on her flabby thighs in anger. And one again, the inner skinny bitch is flipping her the bird And sticking her tongue out.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Could be my imagination....
My skin is looking hideous. This could be for a couple of reasons. It could be the skin care stuff I've been using, since its different than the stuff I normally use. But it's supposed to brighten and even my skin tone, not give me acne, for crying out loud. Or it could be the stuff I've been eating and all the water I've been drinking are pushing all the bad crap out through my pores. I prefer to think it's the latter than the former. Either way, it's my firm belief that any woman, no matter what her age, should not have to battle acne and wrinkles at the same time.
I remember when I went on a big green tea drinking kick. For about two weeks,my face resembled a mine field. Then it miraculously cleared up. I was told that all the anti- oxidants in the tea pushed all the toxins out through my pores. Why I ever gave up green tea, I'll never know.
At any rate, it could be my imagination, but I think my size medium yoga pants (bought entirely by accident, the hanger said extra large) fit a little more loosely than they did a few weeks ago. And my thighs seem a little firmer than they did a few weeks ago. Sadly, my belly is still here and probably the same size and shape as its been. But that's the last place I always lose it and the first place I gain it. And I still have my furniture problem (my chest hangs into my drawers). That may never correct itself, unless I manage to save enough for a boob lift.
And do you know what I did tonight? This is too exciting. I did push ups. Yeah, you heard me right. I said push ups. Sixty of them, in fact. Okay, so they were girl push ups, and so I didn't go all the way to the floor, but the fact remains that they were push ups, And I did them. Even when my arms were screaming in protest and all I wanted to do was crumple to the floor in a sweaty, miserable heap, I kept going.
I'm still waiting on the big endorphin rush that I've heard comes when you're all sweaty and done with your workout. A co- worker tells me she feels it immediately after she starts working out again, even if it's been a while since her last workout. Of course, she's a skinny bitch. And to be honest, the last time I had an endorphin rush so big I couldn't stop shaking was....when I got my last tattoo (thought I was going to say something else, didn't you?).
Yeah, it could all be my imagination, but I think I'm seeing results. Outer fatty? well, she's in a bit of a snit and sulking this evening. But my inner skinny bitch? She.Is. CROWING!!!
Small Victories
Okay, okay, I haven't been as good as I should have. I ate an entire filet mignon Friday night (as well as a deep fried chicken wing I swiped off the old man's plate). And yesterday at work I indulged (slightly) in a few bites of some yummy desserts from a plate celebrating the festival of Guadalupe, but hey, there are worse things than beef and it was only one chicken wing and only a few bites of sweets.
Since then, I've worked on figuring out ways to curb my sweet tooth without overindulging. I took a page from Shaun T' s cookbook that was sent with my workout videos and had a small piece of Angel food cake lightly (veerryy lightly) drizzled in chocolate syrup. Angel food cake is low in calories and fat. I've always loved Angel food cake, and I plan to use it only as a last resort.
But rather than focus on the not- so- good things I've done, I prefer to focus on the small victories I've had. I have Not skipped a single workout, no matter how sore and tired I've been. I have Not had a single soda since, well, I can't remember exactly, but it's been more than a week ago. Given the fact that this is one of my major addictions, this is huge. I have not gone out to lunch a single time since I started this diet and exercise program, and not one morsel of fast food has crossed my lips. I have been drinking water like there's no tomorrow.
The fact of the matter is, this can't just be about losing weight. It has to be about more than that. It's about taking control of my life back. It's mental as well as physical.
Once again, my outer fatty is chuckling over my indulgences. But they are small victories. My inner skinny bitch, however, is smiling serenely and giving her the one- fingered salute. Her victories are the larger ones.
Since then, I've worked on figuring out ways to curb my sweet tooth without overindulging. I took a page from Shaun T' s cookbook that was sent with my workout videos and had a small piece of Angel food cake lightly (veerryy lightly) drizzled in chocolate syrup. Angel food cake is low in calories and fat. I've always loved Angel food cake, and I plan to use it only as a last resort.
But rather than focus on the not- so- good things I've done, I prefer to focus on the small victories I've had. I have Not skipped a single workout, no matter how sore and tired I've been. I have Not had a single soda since, well, I can't remember exactly, but it's been more than a week ago. Given the fact that this is one of my major addictions, this is huge. I have not gone out to lunch a single time since I started this diet and exercise program, and not one morsel of fast food has crossed my lips. I have been drinking water like there's no tomorrow.
The fact of the matter is, this can't just be about losing weight. It has to be about more than that. It's about taking control of my life back. It's mental as well as physical.
Once again, my outer fatty is chuckling over my indulgences. But they are small victories. My inner skinny bitch, however, is smiling serenely and giving her the one- fingered salute. Her victories are the larger ones.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Not as bad as I thought
Okay, so I was up .2 pounds this morning. But it's okay, because I was expecting at least a pound, so it's not as bad as I thought. And I've been exceptionally good today. I ate right, I did my workout and sweated up a storm, but my heart wasn't entirely in it. I think it's because I'm a little burned out and I know my "day of rest" is coming tomorrow. I didn't feel the same sense of accomplishment as I have the rest of this week.
Maybe it's because I actually gained weight yesterday instead of losing it. Or maybe, like so many other things in my life, I'm growing bored with it. I hope this isn't the case, because if it is, this journey into skinny- dom may as well be over.
I'm not as sore as I was. And I'm actually starting to enjoy the foods that are good for me, like organic spring mix salad and light balsamic vinaigrette dressing. I'm also enjoying experimenting with different spices added to rice to make it less bland. And I'm finding that the more I sweat, the easier it is to drink water.
Ideally, I'd like to lose about 65 to 70 pounds. This would put me in the 130's. Too skinny? Maybe just a little. But then maybe I'll concentrate on quitting smoking. It would be nice nor to have to worry about packing on a few extra pounds when I do!
Maybe it's because I actually gained weight yesterday instead of losing it. Or maybe, like so many other things in my life, I'm growing bored with it. I hope this isn't the case, because if it is, this journey into skinny- dom may as well be over.
I'm not as sore as I was. And I'm actually starting to enjoy the foods that are good for me, like organic spring mix salad and light balsamic vinaigrette dressing. I'm also enjoying experimenting with different spices added to rice to make it less bland. And I'm finding that the more I sweat, the easier it is to drink water.
Ideally, I'd like to lose about 65 to 70 pounds. This would put me in the 130's. Too skinny? Maybe just a little. But then maybe I'll concentrate on quitting smoking. It would be nice nor to have to worry about packing on a few extra pounds when I do!
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
I've been baaaaaad.....
The title says it all. Tonight I ate.....wait for it....a chocolate chip cookie. Okay, granted, it was just one and it wasn't very big, but still. It was a chocolate chip cookie. Then I followed it up with....a piece of deer meat, breaded and fried. Yeah, it was just a small piece, but still. It was breaded and fried. Obviously, neither of these things is particularly conducive to losing weight.
Nobody forced me to eat these things. And my only defense is that I have been suffering from mad cravings all day today. As I sat in the break room at work watching the AVI worker fill the vending machines all I could think about was knocking the poor girl down and ravaging the machine. Because everything in there, right down to the stuff I don't even really like, looked delicious.
I'm debating whether to even get on the scales tomorrow morning. If I actually weigh the same as I did this morning, I'll consider myself lucky. If I weigh more, I'll feel like a failure. I know, it was just one cookie and just one small piece of fried yumminess (and actually deer meat is pretty healthy), but fried food and chocolate chips are not in my new repertoire.
On a positive, I did work out today. I was sore as hell, so sore, in fact, that I survived today at work only by the grace of the almighty and ibuprofen. But once I started to get warmed up and sweaty, it all went away. And it could be my imagination, but it seems like the moves are coming easier to me.
I'm mad at myself, but I'm not discouraged. I am going to do this. The outer fatty may have won this battle, but the inner skinny bitch ain't down and out just yet. She's still very much alive and kicking. And spoiling for a fight.
Nobody forced me to eat these things. And my only defense is that I have been suffering from mad cravings all day today. As I sat in the break room at work watching the AVI worker fill the vending machines all I could think about was knocking the poor girl down and ravaging the machine. Because everything in there, right down to the stuff I don't even really like, looked delicious.
I'm debating whether to even get on the scales tomorrow morning. If I actually weigh the same as I did this morning, I'll consider myself lucky. If I weigh more, I'll feel like a failure. I know, it was just one cookie and just one small piece of fried yumminess (and actually deer meat is pretty healthy), but fried food and chocolate chips are not in my new repertoire.
On a positive, I did work out today. I was sore as hell, so sore, in fact, that I survived today at work only by the grace of the almighty and ibuprofen. But once I started to get warmed up and sweaty, it all went away. And it could be my imagination, but it seems like the moves are coming easier to me.
I'm mad at myself, but I'm not discouraged. I am going to do this. The outer fatty may have won this battle, but the inner skinny bitch ain't down and out just yet. She's still very much alive and kicking. And spoiling for a fight.
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Feeding my addiction
As I was driving to the gas station on my lunch break today, I got to thinking about why dieting never worked for me in the past. Several reasons came to mind, like that the food was tasteless and boring (after all, a girl can only live on chicken and rice for so long before she goes ape- shit and binges on McDonald's chicken nuggets, right?), but at the end of the day, the only thing I could truly lie the blame on was me. It's always been me sabotaging myself.
Sure, the food may have been bland, and the results may have not happened on my timetable, but no one held a gun to my head and forced me to make the trip to Mickie D' s. I did that. Sure, the old man may have been slightly less than supportive (okay, more than slightly unsupportive) but it's not like he forbid me to eat right and exercise.
Nope, I gave up all on my own. And the best reason I can come up with as to why I didn't follow through is because I'm an addict.
An addict, you say? What could she possibly be addicted to? Drugs? Alcohol? Food, even?
Food, yes. Drugs and alcohol? Not even. But it's more than just a food addiction. I'm addicted to taking the easy way out. Like so many others, I'm addicted to instant gratification. I want what I want when I want it, which is yesterday. When I don't see immediate results, I get discouraged. And what do I turn to in my time of imagined abandonment? You guessed it. Food. The more, the better. The greasier,the better. The worse for me, the better.
The bottom line is this: no one can do this for me. And whether I get laughed at or ridiculed or discouraged shouldn't be a determining factor in whether or not I succeed. And success, no matter how great or small, shouldn't result in me "rewarding" myself with a binge- fest of fried chicken, chocolate and soda. It's the equivalent of an alcoholic rewarding themselves with a drinking binge to celebrate a year of sobriety or a drug addict shooting up to celebrate being clean for six months. It doesn't make sense.
Since I started my diet four days ago and my workouts three days ago, I have gone from 198.6 pounds to 194.8 pounds. Sure, it's water weight (in the form of sweat, most likely) but it's progress, just the same. It's probably the biggest amount of weight I've lost in the shortest amount of time since I was a teenager. And I gotta say,it feels empowering.
I watched my co- worker suck down a Pepsi with her lunch today. Did I drool? Sure, a little bit. But that was my outer fatty doing the drooling. My inner skinny bitch was whispering words of praise and encouragement.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)