Life without pie: unpleasant.
This has not been a good week.
Last week, the scale did not move. This week, it showed a loss of one pound. ONE. This after running 10-minute miles on the treadmill (and a full-on 45 minute run with stairs!), and following the diet pretty closely.
When I stood on the scale in the nutritionist's office, I just completely lost my shit. I was crying, I was angry, I was a gale-force wind of blame and acrimony and frustration.
To put this in context for you, this little episode came after a world record 10 days of PMS. Ten days in which I had done nothing but work and sweat and drink water and follow the fucking food plan. All that work, all that being good and not letting myself have the food I really wanted to eat. All that stress over managing my carbs and protein and fat, for what? One stinking pound.
I tried to calm down, I really did. And I let the nutritionist know that I wasn't blaming her; I was blaming God. I just about had it under control when she suggested cheese may be the culprit, and I lost it again. Cheese? For the love of God, not cheese! Don't take away my cheese! Cue sobbing.
The poor nutrionist looked like she was about to burst into tears with me, and - after I wailed that I missed food, missed baking cookies and cinnamon rolls and bread, missed making yummy dinners for my husband - she suggested I have one planned lapse a week, one meal where I eat whatever the hell I want.
I agreed to it, sniffling, and then she mentioned that my daily calories, at 1400, look a little high to her anyway. Here's how I heard that: I can have one planned lapse a week and then the rest of the week I am living on gruel. And the nutritionist wondered why I couldn't stop crying.
Walking away from the office, tired, defeated, listening to my thighs rub together under my skirt, I thought, "I wouldn't have to do the program any more if I walked in front of a bus."
But then I got my hair cut, and it's so cute, I can't deprive the world of it, so you're stuck with me for another 60 or so years. It's actually the same cut my mom has been rocking for a good 5 or 6 years now. How come it took me so much longer to figure that out? Yeesh.
Last week, the scale did not move. This week, it showed a loss of one pound. ONE. This after running 10-minute miles on the treadmill (and a full-on 45 minute run with stairs!), and following the diet pretty closely.
When I stood on the scale in the nutritionist's office, I just completely lost my shit. I was crying, I was angry, I was a gale-force wind of blame and acrimony and frustration.
To put this in context for you, this little episode came after a world record 10 days of PMS. Ten days in which I had done nothing but work and sweat and drink water and follow the fucking food plan. All that work, all that being good and not letting myself have the food I really wanted to eat. All that stress over managing my carbs and protein and fat, for what? One stinking pound.
I tried to calm down, I really did. And I let the nutritionist know that I wasn't blaming her; I was blaming God. I just about had it under control when she suggested cheese may be the culprit, and I lost it again. Cheese? For the love of God, not cheese! Don't take away my cheese! Cue sobbing.
The poor nutrionist looked like she was about to burst into tears with me, and - after I wailed that I missed food, missed baking cookies and cinnamon rolls and bread, missed making yummy dinners for my husband - she suggested I have one planned lapse a week, one meal where I eat whatever the hell I want.
I agreed to it, sniffling, and then she mentioned that my daily calories, at 1400, look a little high to her anyway. Here's how I heard that: I can have one planned lapse a week and then the rest of the week I am living on gruel. And the nutritionist wondered why I couldn't stop crying.
Walking away from the office, tired, defeated, listening to my thighs rub together under my skirt, I thought, "I wouldn't have to do the program any more if I walked in front of a bus."
But then I got my hair cut, and it's so cute, I can't deprive the world of it, so you're stuck with me for another 60 or so years. It's actually the same cut my mom has been rocking for a good 5 or 6 years now. How come it took me so much longer to figure that out? Yeesh.
All the credit goes to Ana of Modern Mia in Redmond, Washington. Or Saint Ana, as I call her.
Oh: and after all that, I had my lapse dinner, with three of my good friends. You bet your ASS I had my lapse. Although as lapses go, it wasn't that bad. There were a couple glasses of wine and a rather large steak, but there was no chocolate, and only limited quantities of mashed potatoes. I count it a win.
posted by Brooke at 10:22 AM
3 Comments:
How high of a protein intake are you on? Because for me, this is KEY. I cut carbs way, way back a long time ago: not officially banning them or keeping specifically keeping track (and I'm not really losing weight, for full disclosure), but I've noticed that I come unglued if my protein is too low. But then, for me I was a carb addict, and what I've learned is to lean more on my protein instead.
Kashi Go Lean shakes and all those protein bars are my friend. In the end for me I eat a lot less and drink a lot of protein water and basically anything that will give me enough to get by. Nothing is going to change until I add rigorous exercise, that I know, but the protein thing, when I stick to it, does keep me from the insanity of no carbs.
Long way of saying I have felt your pain. Hugs at you.
Very cute hair cut!!! You do look a lot like Mrs. C. I feel your pain. What you're doing is the hardest thing ever (I think). So much work and sacrifice with shitty results. I don't understand why everything else in life makes logical sense except weight loss. You would think if you eat less and exercise, you'd lose weight, but it just doesn't seem to work like that. I hope you turn a corner here next week and lose 3-4 pounds to make up for this week. Keep us posted!
That must have been one well placed pound- because you look KICK ASS in that photo.
I am loving that hair. LOVING.
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