1230p-fr egg, s chicken sausage, 2 tangerines, Larabar, bowl "cereal" (slivered almonds, raisins, cinnamon, flax milk), 2c decaf, supps
1p-can diet cherry Pepsi
130p-workout - mobility work & random fun stuff w/ Joy
6p-salad (2c spinach, s almond crackers, 2T slivered almonds, 2T cranberries, balsamic), 2 sl beef bacon, 2s roasted veg (parsnips, mushrooms, bell peppers, olive oil, balsamic), supps
Went with three meals today so they could be larger, knowing I was in a mood to over-indulge.
Pulls: 8, 6, then I just plain forgot.
Sleep: 8 hours in bed, but final 2 were no good - cats were very active, couldn't comprehend me sleeping past 5am. I felt okay all morning, but after the workout, I saw my "finish Boston" goal down in the Well, and I nearly started crying. So I came home and took a 1.5-hour nap. Helped the body, brain was a bit of a lost cause, though.
Rehab: Shin was pretty sore when I first got up, I was limping to avoid pain. Did PT and that helped immensely just after the iso-holds. Still, enough pain to make me cancel my walk in the park with Joy. Angry sadface. Mobility work instead, some lifting, nothing truly heavy. I want to go all-out heavy again, though. If I'm not running or even walking a marathon in 3 weeks, can't I please go heavy? The brain needs something.
As a special little bonus, the death of my Boston dream is happening during tax season's stress and pumping season's spousal abandonment. I was finally able to see Hop in person this morning (first time he's been home in 48 hours: he got home at 430a...and left again at 1030a), so I [tearfully] told him I won't be able to do Boston. And at that time I finally realized how badly I have been needing a god damn hug. A simple HUG. Why should that be so hard to come by? I feel very alone in my sadness.
Habit: Too distracted by Boston to really care about the belly today, but I was back to hate daggers every time I saw it. Ongoing battle.
Misc: Pity party kind of day...just feeling like it's all very unfair, like I work so hard for so little. I read everything and "know" everything I'm supposed to be doing. I work out regularly, and I love it. I train appropriately (mostly thanks to Dustin) so that I avoid over-training. I made myself a stand-up workstation. I plan & obsess over everything I eat. I don't drink at all. I don't eat any junk food: no ice cream, no pizza, no candy bars, no fries, no deep-fried anything. Ever. I am forced to avoid dairy and grains and legumes lest I have a disgustingly ugly face. I track motherfucking e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g. that I eat and do, right down to how many god damn hours I sleep each night. (And that's way beyond the recommended levels, of course.)
Yet where has all of this effort put me? I am unable to run the Boston Marathon; I couldn't even walk the fucker if there wasn't a time limit. I am 15 lbs overweight, all put on over the past year, after having been at the best shape, by light years, of my entire life. I barely enjoy going out to eat because all that's 100% okay is a salad (no cheese! no croutons! balsamic vinaigrette only!). If I'm going to a friend's house, or anywhere that I will be fed, I need to discuss food ahead of time or just bring my own. I am ridiculously sensitive to sleep and stress levels.
So, it begs the question: am I any happier now than I was when I was eating whatever foods I wanted to eat and having all kinds of downtime to read and watch TV and not obsessing over all of this?
Yes, I am.
Because while I might not be the tiny person I want to be, I'm still very healthy. I am stronger, fitter, far more confident than I was back then. While I'm not currently thrilled with my body, I don't hate it. And I don't hate myself. My skin is clear and I don't hate my face. I don't have as much spare time as I used to have, but my new hobbies are more enjoyable than any show on TV. I influence others to make healthier choices in their lives. Fitness has brought new people into my life that I simply adore. It has made me a better version of myself: new & improved! And that makes it worth every hardship.
And when I get this "poor me" attitude, I typically feel like a giant asshole because there are people in this world with real problems, and I ain't one of them.
But maybe no matter who you are, some days are going to be lonely, pathetic little pity parties. I'd just really like them to stop now, please.
Expecting the world to treat you fairly is a little like expecting the bull not to attack you because you are a vegetarian.