Enforced Cake

So I excercised my butt off this weekend, Peeps. Having my iPod come back was a godsend. P!nk's U + UR HAND is the perfect song for pounding down the treadmill and punching the air. Biking is done perfectly to Bowling for Soup. I kicked some workout ass, and I can tell. My thighs are starting to get the rock-hard muscle undernieth and my belly keeps getting smaller.

I went to a pool party on Saturday and my swimsuit was too big, yay!

Mentally, I haven't been doing quite as well (see Speckblog soon for the nitty gritty) and so on Saturday night The Troublemaker bought me some cake to be comforting.

Do you know, I MADE myself eat that cake? Do you want to know why? Because I actually caught myself thinking about how horrible and guilty I would feel for eating that cake and what a terrible person I'd be and how much better a human being I'd be if I didn't touch it.

In other words, my obsession tried to flip from EAT EVERYTHING NOW to DON'T EAT ANYTHING EVER.

I know this train, Peeps. It involves a ton of guilt, a boatload of repression and denial and it derails promptly a month after it starts with some major deprivation binge eating.

NO. I'm not going to be one of those girls. NO. NO. Will not happen. I'm going to eat cake, just not until I want to throw up. I'm going to eat cookies, just not the whole box especially if I don't actually want the whole box. I'm not going to let food run me.

So on Saturday night, thanks to my lovely husband, I was able to eat a nice-sized piece of cake. I gave myself unbridled permission to eat as much as I wanted and it turns out that I wanted a slice. Not the whole thing, but a slice. I did not expect to only want a slice, but I did.

Importantly, today I do not feel either self-ritious or deprived. I don't need to prove anything by not eating or prove anything by eating everything I see, because today food is not about proving stuff. It's just food.

I don't want to be a stupid girl.

Quick Update

Hi there! I just wanted to report in. Let you know how I'm doing.

Under the heading of food I'm doing poorly: I eat anything I want whenever I want it. This is not good. I'm trying to eat more vegetables and a little more fruit, with some mixed results.

Under the excercise heading, however, I'm doing very well. Most nights I manage to walk/run on an incline at a reasonable pace for a half an hour on the treadmill, do 90 crunches and 15 sad, pathetic pushups. On really good nights I'm able to also do a half an hour on the recumbant bike and some weight lifting in the arms at the same time.

Everything is firming up. My soft, white underbelly is disappearing.

My weight continues to go up because of the massive muscle explosion (again, totally normal for me), but I've lost an inch off my waist and an inch off of each of my thighs. Arms and hips are the same (that's where I lose weight last), and my bust has actually gone up an inch. This is because as the muscles build and tighten underneith they go from sort of sacks to sort of TORPEDOS. I, myself, am not especially enamored of this, but The Troublemaker seems to think it a positive event, so whatever.

Luckily one of the first places I lose weight is in my face, and you can really tell. I can really tell. My face is getting pointy again.

Now, as of Tuesday next week PMS should be over and hopefully I can get some of the eating under control. In the meantime I promise you to excercise every day this weekend.

I hope it's going well in your neck of the woods! Let me know!

KP

Don't Wanna

Look, I don't want to post here. I don't want to have to lose weight. I don't want to do any of this.

We finally got our recumbant bike in so on Friday TT and I added that to our excercise routine. It was good. On Saturday I managed to get time in ten minute intervals between getting Wallace down for a nap to run on the treadmill. Or rather, not getting him down.

So I'm doing okay with the excercising.

Yesterday I didn't feel like it, but we've been battling colds. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. Tonight I'll get off my ass.

The food, not so good. Doing perfectly crappily potty with the food, in fact. I'm trying to do better and include more veg and fruit, but really now that I'm working out I'm just a hungry hungry hippo.

Also, because the muscles are going on (this is what my body does: "Oh? We're moving? Must be time to plow the fields!" *BLAM*) the weight on the scale has been going up as well. My face looks thinner and I'm infinately more toned than I was two weeks ago, and what the scale says is that I'm fatter. FATTER? AFTER ALL THIS?

I know I'm not supposed to care, but I do. I'm not supposed to be that shallow, but I am.

I'm also tired of trying to find the space and energy for this with everything that's going on, not the least of which a three year old who has decided he's fourteen and going to make my life fucking crazy.

I'll get on the treadmill tonight. I won't eat at the computer. I'll eat a vegetable at dinner.

Today, that is all I can promise you.

Stupid fucking accountability.

NOT ME

This is not me.



This is not me.



This is not me.



This is not me.



This is me. Who is that bitch that has my body, and what has she done with it?







That last picture reminds me that the Greatest Shoes Ever Made were destroyed in last year's flood. I mourn them.

Accountable

Also starving.

So I just did a mile and a half fast-walk on the treadmill uphill. I was going to do another mile and a half, but someone woke up from their nap.

D'OH!

Still, better than nothing, right?

Meanwhile, I'm STARVING.