I'm just your average, everyday, divorced 38 year old girl -- overweight, tragically unhip,
and trying to make a life for myself. I live with two furry beasts, Dave and Abby, whose
feline mission in life is to choke me with their fur. Nothing special.
Friday morning. Once again, last night, I binged out. I ate a double cheeseburger, large fries, onion rings, chicken strips, and, let us not forget, chocolate shake. Just writing it all down embarrasses me to no end. I have no idea why I did it. I tried to talk to myself on the way home from work (don't worry, I put my headset on so that it would look like I was on the phone...no need to frighten the natives!) and see what was going on and why this need to stuff myself was more important than feeling good or looking good, but I didn't get an answer. I promised Chris a few days ago that I'd call him before I ate anything that I'm not supposed to, but if I could do that, I wouldn't be eating this stuff to begin with. When he finds out about this secret eating, and he will, he's going to be so very angry with me. Not because he wants me to lose weight for aesthetic reasons (he actually likes me as I am, which is more than I can say for myself), but because he's afraid that unless I lose weight I am going to die early of some nasty diabetic complication, which is, honestly, a distinct possibility. (Yes, I tried to tell myself that last night, too. Didn't work.) I've tried talking to Dr. Karen about my eating and it just didn't seem to help, so I'm loathe to go down that road again, but I can't just give up. I don't know what to do and it's killing me, figuratively and (most likely) literally.
On a brighter note, I'd like to wish a slightly belated Happy Birthday to a fellow Libran. Georgia, your encouragement as I slog through the wonderland that is training for my first marathon, is much appreciated and came at just the right time this morning. Thank you.
I'm missing one of my favorite reads this week. Are you OK? Have they shackled you to your desk? If you need me to fend off menacing product managers, you just let me know!
OK, one technical specification analysis down, creating an on call schedule and cleaning up my notes from a conference earlier this month for publication to go! Happy Friday, all.
Thursday afternoon, too. OK, I survived my meetings and I'm back to pass along more insightful commentary on the human condition. (In the interest of full disclosure, I should mention that it will only be the human condition as it relates to me because, as Chris said to me only this morning, what's really important to consider is how I'm affected by something, as opposed to the rest of the world! I really love that man.)
So, I did my required 90 minutes on the treadmill last night. I looked like a drowned rat by the time I was done (aren't you glad I shared that with you?) but I wasn't in any pain, which has become my primary objective. I've shifted my expectations of myself and this marathon so many times that it's tough to keep track of where I am. First, I wanted to run the thing. Once I realized that I'd slacked myself past the point where that would be possible, I decided to shoot for running it next year. After a few weeks' reflection (and running into the LA Roadrunners' site), I decided to walk it this year. My original walking goal was to finish under seven hours and I started out training with the 15:30 to 16:00 mile walkers, which was going really well until I slacked for two weeks and couldn't keep up. After washing out of that group, I dropped down to the 17:00 mile group and swore that I'd be faithful and true in my walking during the week so that I could keep up. Last Saturday, I was a full 1/2 mile behind the rest of my group by the time I finished, and I've been training this week at 18:00 miles, but at least I've been doing all of the required training for the week and I'm proud of myself for that. At this point, my only expectation is to finish, this weekend and every weekend through, and including, March 7. I don't care how long it takes, I'm going to keep up with the training at my own pace, so that I don't hurt myself and so that I finish this race. Those 26.2 miles have become my Moby Dick, my Holy Grail, my raison d'etre. Let us hope, as I most fervently do, that this is not my Impossible Dream and that there are no windmills in my path!
And with that, Sancho, let us go forward and conquer!
Wednesday morning. I didn't post yesterday. I wanted to, or, to be perfectly frank, some part of me wanted to, but still I didn't. It wasn't a particularly bad day, at least not until dinner time, but I just didn't want to post. Why didn't I want to? I'm not sure, and that's the truly frustrating part about it. I read two really great posts this morning, one by Lori and one by Sour Bob (thanks to SF for introducing him!) and they both help to explain how I'm feeling right now.
First, let me say that I had Carne Asada chips (about 2,000 calories, I'm guessing) and most of a Grande Carne Asada burrito (another 2,000 or so) for dinner last night. This after I diligently slogged through my one hour of interval training in the gym after work. This after I meekly ate my hummus on toasted pita for lunch. I don't know why I did it. I know that I justified it to myself in my head thusly: I'm being so good with my marathon training now that I can just let the eating portion of becoming healthier slip "a little". OK, 4,000 extra calories in one day is not a little, Denise, and thinking like that is exactly how I got where I am right now. Result of bingefest? A really, really horrible tummy ache, terrible guilt, and a blood sugar reading this morning of 211 (it was 120 yesterday morning, which is not bad at all -- anything over 200 is really very, very bad).
So, now we know what I didn't want to write about, but why didn't I want to write about it? Certainly, I've come here before to vent and rant about my lack of willpower and culinary indiscretions, so why not yesterday? This is where what Lori and Sour Bob have to say comes into play. Like Lori, I don't want to have well meaning people telling me what I should have eaten instead or other very good, well intentioned advice. I am one of those people that hates the fact that I have to do this (restrict what I eat) at all and hate even more the fact that there are people that know I have to do this. Yes, I realize that seems contradictory given the fact that I've got an online journal that people read where I write about this, but it makes perfect sense in my world. Like Sour Bob, I also am starting to realize that there are people that read what I have to say here each day, and am feeling as though I could easily slip into the trap of over dramatizing the events of my life just to make things more interesting here. I create enough drama on my own, thank you very much, so no need to amplify it!
So, boiling it all down, I didn't post yesterday but I'm here today and I'm glad.
Weeks until LA Marathon: 20 Weeks until Christmas: 10 Exercise yesterday: 60 minutes/3.2 miles interval training
Monday night. I am so completely tired right now. What a charming way to start the week off: my car died Saturday on the way back from the car rental place, so I had to take it in to the shop this morning. Four hundred dollars later, it's running again. It's almost like magic, if it weren't for the whole, nasty money thing. I swear, I so wish I lived in a place that knew the meaning of public transportation. I want to park my poor little car in the garage and take the bus or the Tube or the El or the Metro to work and to the store and to the baseball game. For anyone reading this in one of those cities, I hope you appreciate what you have!
I'm also still mildly sore from Saturday's little walk. I did an hour and 15 minutes last night, too, including the nasty hill o'death that leads to the bay from here. The outside part of my left hip hurts so much. It's a muscular hurt and I'm fairly certain it's an overuse thing, as is the pain in my heels. I've taken a serious pledge not to miss another short session during the week and, if I ever waver in my determination, I can just come back and read about how sore I am right now. One of the guys in my training group on Saturday told me something he learned the last time he was doing this training, a few years ago: from this point on, every Saturday will be like a marathon for me. Basically, my body is going to be pushed to its limits every week, and, once we've passed 13.1 miles (which we'll be doing on November 15), I'll be walking further each week than I've ever walked before. It's exhilarating and terrifying all at once. Man, I really hope the exhilarating part wins!
Weeks until LA Marathon: 20 (yikes!) Weeks until Christmas: 10 Exercise yesterday: 75 minutes/4 miles walking (partial hills) Exercise today: None, it's a rest day on the schedule
