Thursday, March 31, 2011

$%#! and @#&^!

202 lbs. You know the scene in “The King’s Speech” that just got cut to make a PG 13 rating? What he said with a “Fuck a doodle doo” thrown in for good measure.
“Kill Bill, Volume 1.”  I have decided that I want my own samurai sword. I like the idea of being a tall (I’m 5’7”, I swear) blonde woman going to town. Yellow motorcycle suit optional.  Seeing today’s weight, even after all the care I had taken to break the plateau and the temporary gain, made me want to grab that sword and call for a meeting with the Crazy 88s. And, if you’ve seen the movie, you know who won that one.
Steak Day didn’t work. It betrayed me. Now what?
Part of the frustration is that today, March 31, 2011 is the first day without a restriction on what I can eat (absent common sense limits and self-restraint). No 500 calories within these parameters, no ban on sugar or starch.  I COULD HAVE strolled into a coffee shop and gotten something loaded with sugar and a scone (410 calories). But I didn’t.  I COULD HAVE gotten a Double Double and fries.  But I didn’t. I was angry enough to gorge myself on Easter candy (normally, by this point in the season, I’ve had at least one Reese’s Peanut Butter Egg and a Cadbury Orange cream egg). I didn’t. I went over on fat, calories and sodium because of a mistaken indulgence in the Panera Chopped Steak and Blue Cheese Salad (Okay, but not worth the 850 calories, 64 g of fat and 1460 g of sodium, even if I did space it out over 2 meals. The execution is lacking).
My Net Diary is a wonderful tool.  This is not sarcasm. It tracks weight, meds (including supplements), water intake, exercise output, food intake and notes about feelings. Not so good for making decisions in advance, I find, but that’s a minor issue.  (Over the past few days, my Notes  have been…well…see the first paragraph). I haven’t been carefully weighing things, carefully choosing what I’m going to eat, denying myself  things that I’d consume without a second thought just to see my weight go in the opposite direction. No, this is not how this is supposed to work. If I had wanted THAT result, I could still be eating as I please without giving it a thought. But no, I have gone without sugar long enough that I don’t want it. I’m planning to eat at Outback Steakhouse before Tuesday (because they have a special menu that supports veterans coming home from the war) and I’m telling myself I need to check the nutritional info on a damned sweet potato before I go (no cinnamon sugar).
I should stop and reflect: I have dropped 2 jeans sizes. My blood pressure is low. My cholesterol is lower. My blood sugar is lower. I can see definition in my chin and throat where I used to see nothing but white skin and a LOT of it. My bras fit better. A ring that I was given as a gift 3 years ago actually fits me now (beautiful lemon citrine in silver). I’m not feeling cravings, so all the crazy brain supplements must be working. Long standing skin issues (like warts) are clearing up. I’ve been sleeping better than I have in 20 years, so maybe the apnea is in retreat. I’m not waking up groggy. I’m actually getting a mental picture of myself after a run. Yes, a run: I have a sports bra, long Reebok EasyTone pants and a ponytail. I have no idea where the ponytail comes because when my hair gets long enough for a ponytail, I make an appointment to GET IT CUT. Anyway, I’m long and lean, breathing hard, hands on hips and contemplating what I just did. When I was a kid, I loved to run. I loved the feeling of my legs muscles extending. I loved finding that little extra bit of speed. I loved feeling like I was flying. If I try to run now, I get a truly nasty bronchial cough and yack up something the consistency of shredded tire rubber. I do believe my body likes to hold onto these little souvenirs of walking pneumonia past just so it can keep me in check. Blackmail to ensure that I don’t overstep. I guess I have to work up to it.
Years ago, I was riding in a car with a friend and her (now ex) husband when we passed a heavy woman who was jogging. The husband made a sneering comment about how ridiculous and awful he thought the woman looked and she should have had the common sense and decency to stay home. My friend told him that he should consider the fact that she was out doing something about her weight. He still made nasty comments about fat people staying behind closed doors.
More on that later.

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