Tuesday, April 3, 2012

The Chocolate Crackhouse, the Crash and Cry

Sooooo...

If my Weight Smart multivitamin says to "take with food", and I eat a double chocolate chunk cookie, does it sorta cancel itself out?

Kinda?

Maybe?

No?

Damn. That's what I thought.

Ugh.

The past couple of weeks have been SUPER stressful. Or three, actually.

There was that week with daily swimming lessons from 5-6pm (plus the hour drive and juggling wet and slippery children and dry small bored squirmy children), orthodontist, work (with major political upheaval and big-time deadlines), homeschool (much of which I set up for the sitter the night before with a lesson plan, sadly), and two trips to the city (that's 5+ hrs of just driving, each time) including an overnight one and meetings.

Then there was the week of 30 hours clocked Monday and Tuesday so we could "get away" to Banff Wednesday-Friday.... But I wound up sneak-working on vacation, we were both kind of tired and grumpy and not-in-the-mood, and it wound up being less wonderful than we had hoped (AND I made some people-at-home unhappy with me for ditching them at work)...

Then there was last week, with far too many and too stupid work hours in the office and at home, emergency dental for a kid, and I forgot about JBean's online course and he missed it, we skipped piano, I made snack for choir which I could have put less effort into for the benefit of those in my house, and... Well, that was the week I really crashed.

I have gotten back to the point of total stress, total lapse in remembering why I'm doing what I do, and hating my life and myself, for the most part. I've been depressed and crying easily, when I'm not trying to pick fights.

Week 1, I was still getting up and treadmilling most days, though I did grab fast food. And had too much of it when I did. Week 2, one treadmill visit, no eating Monday Tuesday, and dining out Wed-Fri.

Last week, I ate. Everything.

I bought a fresh focaccia loaf in the city. I ate a lot of it. Dipped in the best EVOO and balsamic I could find. Carrrrrby carb carb. Nom nom nom.

I baked cheese puffs for choir. With old cheddar and proscuitto. Of course I made gouda and proscuitto ciabatta buns for lunch, with grilled eggplant and zucchini and mayo... And ate mine and bits of the kids'. I also baked two trays of amazing brownies. And iced them. Not all that was eaten at choir, mind you. I made two trays of brownies. Only one went.

Here's where "going downhill" became "careening wildly out of control".

So, I basically ate the bulk of a 9x13 tray of brownies between Wednesday and Sunday. Piecing. Nibbling. Inhaling. Melty, soft, chocolate chunky, icingy-creamy..... Ohhhhh be still, my beating heart. I got on the treadmill, a few times. That makes up for being a glutton, right?

Saturday, J made succulent, fall-off-the-bone dry ribs, with an incrdible spicy brown sugar coating. I made quinoa and I made potato salad. I ate a zillion ribs, and too much of the rest.

Then, Sunday, I baked cookies. Chocolate chocolate-chip cookies. Mini ones mind you- silver dollar sized. I baked them til they were juuuust done, with the super soft texture that kills me.

So, since they're mini, they're not bad, right? Low cal, almost. Except if you can't stop popping them in your mouth because they are warm and melty, and then you can't stop popping them in your mouth because you have a glass of milk or a cup of coffee or a beer (sure! Why not!) that needs a partner.... And then you become an automaton who just eats them because they are THERE.

And they are NOT SATISFYING. Somehow, I have created the chocolate equivalent of crack. Not quiiiiite good enough, not quiiiiiite "enough" enough. Maybe if I eat more, I'll be done, and I won't wat more? I DON'T THINK SO!

MAYBE IF YOU EAT MORE, YOU'LL HATE YOURSELF IN THE MORNING.

Oh! And we had a fondue for supper. So I probably had a pound of beef, chicken, shrimp and octopus, fried in oil and dipped in sauce. I had salad, too, of course. Don't judge me.

Ok, judge me. I'm a terrible person. I have NO self-control. UGH!!

This morning, I could barely think, I was so bloated and DISGUSTING feeling. I weighed myself, and freaked.

TWELVE POUNDS up. 12 freakin' pounds of self-loathing. OH MY GIDDY AUNT.

I cried. I raged. I texted J and told him I quit. Everything. Thankfully, he has heard this before, so he knew to tell me he loves me, he believes in me, and I can DO this. I disagreed, diva-like, and he gently reinforced. Then I ate 6 more mini-cookies, even though I was so full I wasn't sure I could swallow.

The day gradually got better. I didn't exercise, but I didn't eat all crazy after the cookies. I called a dear friend and we had a therapeutic talk. I opened the windows and breathed the air. I had a productive school morning with the kids, and a productive work afternoon (here) while they played outside or napped as needed.

Tonight, I'm 5lbs less than the 12lbs up, so that means, in 3 weeks, I weigh 7lbs more. I won't say I "gained", because I'm pretty sure not ALL of that could be fat. So, I'm "up".

I'm lying in bed right now, and so, so hungry. I awakened the beast, and this appetite will take a while to tame. I need to ignore it, for starters. After a while it will hush up.

Why is my success so cyclical?

That's hypothetical. I'm pretty sure it is because I'm an extremist. AND I'm pretty sure I'm extremely unhappy with myself, right now.

Here's to a brighter tomorrow.
Sent on the TELUS Mobility network with BlackBerry

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My weight loss journey