Emotional Eating

For almost the last two weeks, I've been the walking and talking definition of "emotional eating." That's normally not me. I'm a clock eater: I eat at 9am, noon, 3pm and as close to 6pm as possible. But when Daddy was hospitalized and then put on life support, I had to force myself to eat just to fuel my body enough to travel to see him. When he passed away and we buried him, I again had to force myself to eat just to keep from being dehydrated from all the tears.

Since then, I've been eating everything in sight. I'm sad. And I'm a bit scared and worried, but I really don't know what I'm scared of. And although I know peanut butter cups don't really help with any of that, for some reason in some tiny way, they kinda do.

My dad was an incredible character. I have his eyes and dimples and broad shoulders. He taught me to catch a fish, shoot a gun, unclog a toilet and drive. He was proud of my education and my work, and he hung my photographs proudly throughout his home. He had an amazing laugh that I hope my memory will always allow me to hold on to.

It still feels very unreal to me that he's gone.

I hope I can pull a lesson or two out of all of this: Eat for fuel and health. Cry when I need to. Take more pictures. Laugh. Remember the good. Do something beautiful and full of life every day. Love.

No Wonder We Have Issues...

If you run in the same Twitter circles that I do, you read two articles today that couldn't be more different from each other.

One encouraged "fatties" to "get a room" in an article where the author confesses to being grossed out by simply watching someone who's overweight walk across a room.

The other, written by a single dad who's ready to see a change -- not only in the way the media and other men see women, but in the way we see ourselves -- had me feeling comfortable in my own skin, ready to give up worrying about trying to be perfect. Whatever that word means.

One hurt my stomach.

One made me proud of my freckles.

One article made me cringe to call myself a writer or a woman.

One article made me want to be better at being both.

One article brought tears to my eyes for anyone who has ever had to endure the stares from eyes filled with such harmful judgment.

One made me want to smile more.

Both articles have me wanting to hug every woman that I know to tell her how special, funny, beautiful and smart she is. Not for the size of her thighs or the number printed in her jeans, but because she's just exactly who she is. And that's perfect.

Random Thoughts in No Particular Order

I haven't been watching what a I eat very much at all the last couple of weeks. I guess with bootcamp I expected the pounds to just drip right off of me, and I let counting points slip a bit. A lot. I'm pretty disgusted after stepping on the scale this morning, so I'm skipping my meeting to pout.

I'm so sick of worrying about it all the time.

One good number that came out of this week: When we first started bootcamp, we ran a "test" mile. We also tested on how many push-ups we could do in a minute, how long we could hold the plank, etc. Well, all of those numbers improved when we retested Thursday evening. I shaved a minute and two seconds off of my mile time. I was very pleased.

I hope to use this weekend to just regroup. To dig deep and find my motivation. To keep looking toward to looking good in a bathing suit as summer gets closer and closer. If I knew how to spell out a frustrated scream, I would...

Ready for Monday

Usually about this time on a Sunday evening, I'm a little sad that Monday is so close. I dread going to bed knowing that when I open my eyes, the weekend will be over and we'll be heading back into the routine of the workweek. (Note: I love my job!!!)

But this week I'm ready for Monday. I need a clean start, a new day, a new attitude. I need to forgive myself for the way I've eaten and allowed myself to slip over the last two weeks. And yes, I did allow myself. I gave myself permission to indulge, too many times. And now I'm regretting it. But a gain of two pounds, a night of being ill and having to skip the scale Saturday out of sheer fear has finally caught up with me. I can't and won't let it happen again.

This week I will:

• Track and blog my points every day, no matter how ugly the number is.
• Get a new battery for my pedometer and shoot for 10,000 steps each day.
• Cook dinner at home instead of just phoning dinner in and hitting the drive-thru.
  

The Guilt of Yumminess

Last night we went to see Spider-Man 3 at the Alamo Drafthouse. That's the only way to see a movie, but I left there feeling a bit of guilt. I ate too much; I didn't step on anyone's toe or nab an old lady's purse. But still I had this overwhelming feeling of guilt over fried pickels, pizza and chocolate chip cookies. Why does food draw up so much emotion in us???

During my weight-loss journey, I've learned that I'm not an emotional eater as so many who struggle are. I don't turn to the pantry when I'm sad or to the fridge when I'm worried. My biggest struggle is portion control, which leads to a whole other set of emotions that follow: love of the yumminess, guilt over the gluttony, fear of the impending step on the scale, you get the picture.

There are also a few other things that I realized after our movie outing:

• People who eat ice shouldn't come to the movies. Or at least, the person who is with said ice-chomper should say, "Hey, man, the whole theater can hear you. Cut it out!!!"
• What happened to personal space??? There were all of 25 people in this theater that would gladly hold 150. Two rows above us there was a couple who had gotten there early and secured their seats right in the middle of their row. There was a couple about eight seats down from us and a few folks in the rows below us. Well, another couple came in late and went up two rows above us and sat right beside the couple in the center. They didn't speak to each other as if they knew each other. 125 other seats to choose from, and they sat without even one cushion between them and the couple already there. Cole and I would have moved, don't you know.
• Whoever it is who first decided to submerge a battered pickle in hot oil: I want to shake your hand.
• If Cole ever leaves me and runs away to join the circus, I'm moving to Hollywood to find Timothy Oliphant.
• How did we ever survive movies and bad TV from the '70s??? It was just awful...
• BUT... Cartoons were much better when I was a kid than they are now. I'm not talking about the cool Pixar stuff. That's, well, cool. I'm talking about true Saturday-morning cartoons. I miss them.

How my day added up...

Breakfast: yogurt smoothie: 1 point
blue berrymuffin bar: 2 points

Mid-morning snack: banana: 2 points

Lunch: taquitos: 5 points
beans and cheese: 3 points

Afternoon snack: graham crackers: 3 points

Dinner: chicken nuggets: 6 points

TOTAL: 22 points on the nose!!!