On Friday, I PRed my floor press (it’s a bench press, but from the floor. Less range of motion, less weight) by 18#s! I am awesome! Yay me!
On Saturday, I went to a 2-hour beginners gymnastics workshop taught by an M.D./Ph.D. and collegiate gymnast who’s also a coach at our gym (dear life: how can I be a fraction of this bad ass?). I was the most beginnerest (trust me on the grammar; I’m an English major) of the beginners. I cracked my neck doing a headstand thingy because I am too weak to do a handstand. I was the only person still working on ring support (which I got! with only one band!). I was Weak Sauce Bootie.
But that’s okay. I went. And it was fun. And different. And nothing like all those timesduring the 1992/6 Olympics when I would pretend I was a gymnast on a camper mattress in our basement. But it was something new and only a tiny bit humiliating.
Speaking of humiliating. I FLEW off the rails Thursday night and didn’t make it back on track until this morning. Matt’s best friend from college was in, and we went Out To Eat. Why I started Thursday when he didn’t get here until almost 1 am Saturday morning, I have no idea.
I was an angel for an entire week on Phase 1 of South Beach. My weight crept back up and then stalled at about 3 lbs lost the first week… much less than the norm for Phase 1. I blamed hormones. And then I decided to have a “cheat day.”
The problem with cheat days is that it’s MUCH harder to get back on the horse once you’ve already fallen off than just to keep on riding. I almost never get back on the horse in less than a few days. I keep telling myself I can do the one cheat thing, and it doesn’t work.
Maybe I should stop moralizing my food choices. Either I eat lean protein and veggies, or I eat simple carbs and sugar. Neither makes me a good or bad person. Neither makes me strong or weak. One makes me healthier, the other does not. That is the extent of its effect on my body. No guilt, just consequences.
But we all know it doesn’t work that way.
Salad with lean protein = virtuous, self-disciplined, strong, attractive, smart, well-behaved, fit, self-aware, good.
Sandwich and cookies = sinful, failure, out of control, fat, weak, ignorant, cheating, naughty, lazy, bad.
Now that I write that out, COME ON. RIDIC.
But raise your hand if you know exactly what the heck I’m talking about. Yes, I see you.
So, what do I gain by feeling guilty/shameful/stupid/lazy/fat from eating ice cream, pancakes, pizza and a cupcake this weekend? And that chocolate chip cookie? And those sweet potato fries? And that bread and butter? (Hey, I didn’t say I stepped off the rails daintily with poise and grace. I said I FLEW).
Well, if those feelings made me stop eating that crap, I would’ve been thin long ago and this blog wouldn’t exist (tragedy!). If knowledge about what that kind of food does to your body made me stop eating that crap, I would have zero food problems. If spending money on programs made me stop eating that crap, I’d be less broke.
So what could I have done to keep myself from derailing this weekend?
A) Not gone on such a restrictive plan in the first place. Moderate eating = no need to binge.
B) Made a plan and stuck to it. [Yeah, except I didn’t really want to do that]
C) God, girl, don’t you have better things to think about?
I really think the answer is A [and C, but that’s another post]. The problem is I don’t lose weight on moderate eating plans. I am that person who’s been trying hard since age 11, thus f-ing up my metabolism and turning myself into one of those people who can be really active and eat really well and still lose weight slowly/not at all. The moderate eating that leads to 1 lb/week of weight loss leads to maintenance at best for me.
All I know is that I’ve eaten a lot of cucumbers today. Those are good for me. And tomatoes. And chicken. And eggs.
Better than last night’s treat, my one and only Cookout shake for the year. When we first moved here, I may or may not have eaten one or more of these a week. 800 cals EASY.
I guess I could ask myself what lesson I learned from my poor food choices this weekend. But you know what? I’ve done this a million times. I clearly am not learning a lesson. Perhaps if I stop deciding there’s a lesson to be learned, a moral of the story, then I can just move on and eat well and GET THE HELL OVER IT.