...to make you feel proud?
People who watch The Biggest Loser know those words. Tonight, that show saved me from making a big mistake.
I had a stressful day, and as the hours crept by, the cravings for unhealthy food got stronger. The more stressed and upset I got, the more entitled and defeated I let myself become. After dinner, I gave in and had a few extra fudge pops and a pita with some sliced chicken. It was a slip-up, but not what I'd call an outright binge.
I still had a workout to do. Since I'd already blown it for the day, I just wanted to forget about my scheduled 3 miles and order pizza. The anxiety was consuming me. All the conflicting emotions felt like tiny electrical surges in my brain. It was almost physically painful. I put my hands to my head as the devil whispered in one ear, and the angel in the other.
Order pizza!
No, don't do it!
It would taste so good!
But then you'll feel terrible about yourself!
I knew that stuffing my face would make me feel good for a few minutes, but then I'd feel like crap. I didn't care. I wanted to feel happy now, and I didn't care about the consequences.
Right as I was about to get my phone and dial for delivery, The Biggest Loser was on. As I watched the contestants struggle through their daily workouts and food choices, I reminded myself that I, like them, had a choice to make. I could pick up the phone, have pizza brought to me, and eat another 3000 calories' worth of artery-clogging poison. Or, I could put on my running shoes and do my 3 miles.
I put on my shoes, and before I knew it I was on the treadmill. It's been a long time since I pulled myself back from the edge. I'm proud.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
Crazy weekend
Over the weekend, I surprised Angie with a lovely trip to...drum roll, please... Omaha, Nebraska. She thought I was taking her to the zoo, which I was. Just not the Kansas City Zoo. I'd packed our overnight bags and shuffled the chihuahua to my folks' house, so we were all set for a fun weekend getaway. Besides the zoo, I had an ulterior motive for wanting to go to Omaha. As part of my marathon training, I wanted to run a half marathon. The Omaha Half Marathon seemed to fit the schedule perfectly, so off we went.
We arrived in Omaha around noon and headed right to the zoo. That place was amazing. We were there for almost 6 hours, and still saw only half of the place. We had an extremely unhealthy lunch (pizza, chips, and ice cream) near some cute penguins.
After the zoo, we checked into our hotel. I provided my driver's license and credit card, and the woman behind the counter handed me the room key, as well as two warm chocolate chip cookies. When we got to our room, we tried the cookies, and they were pretty damn awesome.
Dinner was at a brewery in the Old Market District of downtown Omaha. Artichoke dip, lots of bread, and a Thai chicken salad. Note to self: "carbo loading" does NOT mean you get to eat an entire basket of bread the night before a race.
As I slept Saturday night, I had a dream that I my alarm didn't go off, and I missed the race. I made myself wake up, and then noted the time: 4:50 a.m., which was 5 minutes before the alarm went off. I hate it when that happens. In a groggy stupor, Angie and I packed up our stuff, ate muffins, and got ready for the big event. This is me, "getting ready." Take special note of the bed-head, as well as the ski bunny pajama pants:
When we got to the race site, it was chilly. All the participants were lined up at the start, rubbing their arms to keep warm. As Angie wished me luck and moved out of the way, I started to choke up a bit. Her support through all this marathon business has been nothing short of amazing, and I was getting emotional just thinking about it. Leave it to me to cry before the race even starts. Geez. Here we are before the gun went off:
I was thankful to get the party started so I could get warm. I was getting passed by race walkers right and left, which was slightly embarrassing. However, I resisted the urge to keep up with the pack, and warmed up at my own slow pace. After a few minutes, I was ready to step it up. It felt wonderful to be racing again. I really enjoy my training runs with my friends, but there's something about a live race that is exhilarating and engaging. I was truly happy to be there, in that moment, running with such vigor and intensity. When I reached the halfway point and saw Angie, I flashed the cheesiest, dorkiest pose I could muster:
The second half of the race was hilly. I happened to be wearing my racing shirt from the Hospital Hill event I did a few months ago. On the back, it says "I Conquered the Hill." As I was running up an enormous hill that seemed to go on for miles, I really wanted to stop and walk. The only thing that kept me from doing so was the fact that my back said "I Conquered the Hill" and I didn't want to look like a chump. It worked.
My finish time was 2:17:30. I definitely wasn't first, but I wasn't last, either.
After getting my medal and grabbing some post-race treats, we immediately started our drive back to K.C. We got to relax for about 3 hours, but then it was time to get ready for a friend's wedding.
The after-effects of eating an entire basket of "beer bread"... painful.
Running 13.1 miles... really painful.
Squeezing into high heels after running 13.1 miles... holy-crap-i-am-gonna-die painful.
Feeling pretty in a short, black dress... priceless!
We arrived in Omaha around noon and headed right to the zoo. That place was amazing. We were there for almost 6 hours, and still saw only half of the place. We had an extremely unhealthy lunch (pizza, chips, and ice cream) near some cute penguins.
After the zoo, we checked into our hotel. I provided my driver's license and credit card, and the woman behind the counter handed me the room key, as well as two warm chocolate chip cookies. When we got to our room, we tried the cookies, and they were pretty damn awesome.
Dinner was at a brewery in the Old Market District of downtown Omaha. Artichoke dip, lots of bread, and a Thai chicken salad. Note to self: "carbo loading" does NOT mean you get to eat an entire basket of bread the night before a race.
As I slept Saturday night, I had a dream that I my alarm didn't go off, and I missed the race. I made myself wake up, and then noted the time: 4:50 a.m., which was 5 minutes before the alarm went off. I hate it when that happens. In a groggy stupor, Angie and I packed up our stuff, ate muffins, and got ready for the big event. This is me, "getting ready." Take special note of the bed-head, as well as the ski bunny pajama pants:
When we got to the race site, it was chilly. All the participants were lined up at the start, rubbing their arms to keep warm. As Angie wished me luck and moved out of the way, I started to choke up a bit. Her support through all this marathon business has been nothing short of amazing, and I was getting emotional just thinking about it. Leave it to me to cry before the race even starts. Geez. Here we are before the gun went off:
I was thankful to get the party started so I could get warm. I was getting passed by race walkers right and left, which was slightly embarrassing. However, I resisted the urge to keep up with the pack, and warmed up at my own slow pace. After a few minutes, I was ready to step it up. It felt wonderful to be racing again. I really enjoy my training runs with my friends, but there's something about a live race that is exhilarating and engaging. I was truly happy to be there, in that moment, running with such vigor and intensity. When I reached the halfway point and saw Angie, I flashed the cheesiest, dorkiest pose I could muster:
The second half of the race was hilly. I happened to be wearing my racing shirt from the Hospital Hill event I did a few months ago. On the back, it says "I Conquered the Hill." As I was running up an enormous hill that seemed to go on for miles, I really wanted to stop and walk. The only thing that kept me from doing so was the fact that my back said "I Conquered the Hill" and I didn't want to look like a chump. It worked.
My finish time was 2:17:30. I definitely wasn't first, but I wasn't last, either.
After getting my medal and grabbing some post-race treats, we immediately started our drive back to K.C. We got to relax for about 3 hours, but then it was time to get ready for a friend's wedding.
The after-effects of eating an entire basket of "beer bread"... painful.
Running 13.1 miles... really painful.
Squeezing into high heels after running 13.1 miles... holy-crap-i-am-gonna-die painful.
Feeling pretty in a short, black dress... priceless!
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Free will
My therapist and I had a nice chat on Tuesday. Or, I should say, I attempted to chat through all the blubbering I was doing.
I've never cried in front of my therapist before, or at least not like this. Honestly, the floodgates were ready to burst open before I even got my butt on the couch. It had been a while since I'd seen her, so I had some stuff to catch up on. Mainly, I was there to discuss my recent weight gain, and my re-addiction to all things sugar, salt, and fat.
She wanted to know how it began. I explained (between sobs) that it was a convergence of factors. I was stressed from a good friend at work being fired. I got sick with a nasty cold. Pressures of marathon training were suffocating me. Lastly, I just felt like eating a bunch of junk.
Then, she asked me a rather obvious question, yet it was something I'd not considered: "Did you not think this was going to happen eventually?"
Well, no, I really didn't. When I was slimming down, I didn't think of it as a temporary effort. It was a lifelong commitment, like a marriage. I was married to this healthy lifestyle. We were happy. We held hands and ran along the beach; we picnicked in the green grass and fed each other strawberries. Then I cheated. I had an affair with McDonald's. It felt that shameful and sinister, like I was being unfaithful to my true love. In fact, I remember one of the low points a few weeks ago, when I told Angie I was going to fill up my gas tank, but on the way I cruised the drive-thru. Yup, I lied to her, got a crappy cheeseburger, and scarfed it down before I got home. I couldn't contain my remorse, and wound up confessing a few minutes after walking in the door. I was worried Angie would smell the beef on my breath, like the telltale lipstick on the collar. Guilty.
When I considered the fact that most people who lose a lot of weight eventually have a relapse, I felt a little better. Also, I like the term "relapse," because it puts me in the same category as a recovering alcoholic or drug addict. To me, my addiction to food is just as powerful as that of booze to a wino, or heroin to a junkie.
In the past, my motto for getting back on the wagon has always been, "just have one good day." I shared that with my therapist, and she thought it was great. But, she added that sometimes even a day can be too much to handle. If I'm having a hard time, I need to try taking it one hour at a time; even one minute at a time, if necessary. The key is to remember that it's always a choice. I am in control, even when I'm out of control. Free will.
I went into her office a hopeless, depressed wreck. I emerged with a purse full of tear-soaked Kleenex and a better outlook. Gaining ten pounds is not the end of the world, nor is it a white flag of surrender. I will beat this.
I've never cried in front of my therapist before, or at least not like this. Honestly, the floodgates were ready to burst open before I even got my butt on the couch. It had been a while since I'd seen her, so I had some stuff to catch up on. Mainly, I was there to discuss my recent weight gain, and my re-addiction to all things sugar, salt, and fat.
She wanted to know how it began. I explained (between sobs) that it was a convergence of factors. I was stressed from a good friend at work being fired. I got sick with a nasty cold. Pressures of marathon training were suffocating me. Lastly, I just felt like eating a bunch of junk.
Then, she asked me a rather obvious question, yet it was something I'd not considered: "Did you not think this was going to happen eventually?"
Well, no, I really didn't. When I was slimming down, I didn't think of it as a temporary effort. It was a lifelong commitment, like a marriage. I was married to this healthy lifestyle. We were happy. We held hands and ran along the beach; we picnicked in the green grass and fed each other strawberries. Then I cheated. I had an affair with McDonald's. It felt that shameful and sinister, like I was being unfaithful to my true love. In fact, I remember one of the low points a few weeks ago, when I told Angie I was going to fill up my gas tank, but on the way I cruised the drive-thru. Yup, I lied to her, got a crappy cheeseburger, and scarfed it down before I got home. I couldn't contain my remorse, and wound up confessing a few minutes after walking in the door. I was worried Angie would smell the beef on my breath, like the telltale lipstick on the collar. Guilty.
When I considered the fact that most people who lose a lot of weight eventually have a relapse, I felt a little better. Also, I like the term "relapse," because it puts me in the same category as a recovering alcoholic or drug addict. To me, my addiction to food is just as powerful as that of booze to a wino, or heroin to a junkie.
In the past, my motto for getting back on the wagon has always been, "just have one good day." I shared that with my therapist, and she thought it was great. But, she added that sometimes even a day can be too much to handle. If I'm having a hard time, I need to try taking it one hour at a time; even one minute at a time, if necessary. The key is to remember that it's always a choice. I am in control, even when I'm out of control. Free will.
I went into her office a hopeless, depressed wreck. I emerged with a purse full of tear-soaked Kleenex and a better outlook. Gaining ten pounds is not the end of the world, nor is it a white flag of surrender. I will beat this.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Drained
Yesterday evening, I was taking a stroll through my old college campus. The trees were already changing into their fall colors. However, it was difficult to see just how beautiful they were, because the sun was quickly setting.
At a nearby table, I noticed a few familiar faces...old friends. I went over to chat, but when I arrived at the table, things got weird. My friends' eyes were cat-like and yellow, their teeth long and pointy, and their faces bumpy. They had changed into vampires, and were no longer feeling like catching up on old times. They wanted to kill me.
I ran away as fast as I could. I could hear them close behind, laughing and taunting me, but I didn't look back. I ran for miles and miles, and I couldn't help but be grateful for my marathon training, which gave me the endurance to keep going. They were still there, though, toying with me. They'd let me get pretty far ahead, and just as I'd think they were too tired to keep up, they'd inch up right behind me. Vampires don't have to worry about stopping to drink Gatorade, or eating GU gels. They just wanted to eat me, and they were about to do just that.
Thankfully, I woke up before they were able to do so.
I ran more in my dream last night than I've run since my 22-miler on Saturday. Even though I was feeling great the day of the run, the following day I wasn't so good. I was totally drained and exhausted, and I also felt a sinus cold coming on. So, I decided not to do my usual Monday and Tuesday runs, opting instead to let myself recover a bit.
This morning, I woke up feeling more exhausted than I'd been when I went to sleep last night. I blame the vampires. I'm not a huge believer in dream analysis, but surely the notion that "running can be draining" plays into it somehow. Vampires, draining, chasing, running without an end in sight, and fear of death/dismemberment... all the good stuff was there.
I need a nap.
At a nearby table, I noticed a few familiar faces...old friends. I went over to chat, but when I arrived at the table, things got weird. My friends' eyes were cat-like and yellow, their teeth long and pointy, and their faces bumpy. They had changed into vampires, and were no longer feeling like catching up on old times. They wanted to kill me.
I ran away as fast as I could. I could hear them close behind, laughing and taunting me, but I didn't look back. I ran for miles and miles, and I couldn't help but be grateful for my marathon training, which gave me the endurance to keep going. They were still there, though, toying with me. They'd let me get pretty far ahead, and just as I'd think they were too tired to keep up, they'd inch up right behind me. Vampires don't have to worry about stopping to drink Gatorade, or eating GU gels. They just wanted to eat me, and they were about to do just that.
Thankfully, I woke up before they were able to do so.
I ran more in my dream last night than I've run since my 22-miler on Saturday. Even though I was feeling great the day of the run, the following day I wasn't so good. I was totally drained and exhausted, and I also felt a sinus cold coming on. So, I decided not to do my usual Monday and Tuesday runs, opting instead to let myself recover a bit.
This morning, I woke up feeling more exhausted than I'd been when I went to sleep last night. I blame the vampires. I'm not a huge believer in dream analysis, but surely the notion that "running can be draining" plays into it somehow. Vampires, draining, chasing, running without an end in sight, and fear of death/dismemberment... all the good stuff was there.
I need a nap.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Pinky surprise
I went to the mall today to buy shoes for a wedding. As the clerk brought out a pair of black pumps, I removed my shoes and socks and prepared to slip on some of those little hose "socks" they give you.
I saw what looked like a small piece of a leaf, or maybe dirt, on the bottom of my pinky toe. As I nonchalantly tried to brush it away, it wasn't coming off. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was a blood blister...a remnant from my 12 mile run in the rain 10 days ago.
The blister is gross and ugly, but it doesn't hurt. In fact, I had no idea it was even there until I was awkwardly trying on high heels for the first time in 12 years. I'm sure it would hurt like hell if it popped, so I'm going to hope that doesn't happen.
So there you go. Good times. Enjoy your lunch.
I saw what looked like a small piece of a leaf, or maybe dirt, on the bottom of my pinky toe. As I nonchalantly tried to brush it away, it wasn't coming off. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was a blood blister...a remnant from my 12 mile run in the rain 10 days ago.
The blister is gross and ugly, but it doesn't hurt. In fact, I had no idea it was even there until I was awkwardly trying on high heels for the first time in 12 years. I'm sure it would hurt like hell if it popped, so I'm going to hope that doesn't happen.
So there you go. Good times. Enjoy your lunch.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
The 22 Miler (aka- Taking chafing to the next level)
I was determined to make today's 22 mile run a better experience than the disastrous 20 miler from 2 weeks ago. I brought GU gels (Chocolate Outrage flavor, if you're interested). Tylenol made a preventative appearance before my run even started, as well as at the halfway point. Bodyglide...um...glided across all my usual chafing spots. Sadly, there was one place I neglected, but we'll get to that later.
Since I was going 22 and my friends were going 20, I arrived at the site early and ran 2 by myself. The temperature was hovering around 60 degrees, but it was already humid. Fog hung low to the ground and created an eerie, autumn-like start to the run. The cool weather wouldn't stick around long, though. By the end of our run, the temperature would reach 80.
When I got back to the starting point (inside a shopping mall), there were probably 200 people standing around, waiting to get going. I weaved through the crowd and found my friends, and we talked about our expectations for the morning. It was Pritha, Ellen, Mandy, and me. These were the women who got me through the 20-miler from hell, and I was happy to be running with them again.
The pacers from the Kansas City Marathon were running with us today, so my friends and I decided to run with the 4:50 pacer. That means that, if we followed this girl, we'd pretty much be guaranteed to finish the race in under 5 hours. Even though this was just a training run, we wanted to try an "official" pace team to see what it was like. We would also be running 9 miles of the actual marathon course that I'll be running on October 18th.
The first 2.5 miles took us through local neighborhoods. I was feeling good, but we were still having trouble keeping up with our pacer. She seemed to be going way too fast, and a couple Garmin GPS units confirmed this. At mile 3, Mandy was in a lot of pain from an ankle injury, so she wisely decided to call it a day. Runners are great at giving advice about resting, taking it easy, and carefully nursing injuries. But, few runners have the smarts to know when to take their own advice. Mandy does.
We got on a gravel trail and wound our way north. All the pace groups somehow got jumbled together at this point. The 4:50 group was way ahead, while the 4:30 and 4:40 groups lagged behind. We were all in a big pack, and it felt good to be with such a large group of people, so we just went with it and didn't try to catch up to the 4:50 girl.
In all of the literature I've read about marathon running, I've always read that a rookie mistake is to get cocky and go too fast early in the run. So, of course you can guess what I did. Leaving Pritha and Ellen behind, I effortlessly (or so I thought) caught up with 4:50 and stayed with her for quite a while. I knew my friends were close behind. Then came the hill.
I knew it was coming, and I knew it would be hard. I drive by Sunset Hill (yeah, it even has a name) twice each day during my work week. Since I've been in training, I've always looked upon it with ominous dread while driving past. Today, Sunset Hill and I officially got acquainted.
I kept my eyes straight ahead, pumped my arms, and got to the top of that damn hill. Even though I'd made it, I was exhausted, and I knew that I'd made a mistake in going out so quickly. At the 10 mile marker (12 miles for me), I met back up with Pritha and Ellen. Pritha's knee was hurting, but it was manageable. Ellen was having a horrible time breathing, but she kept going. We were all in pain, but we ran anyway.
As the mercury climbed, so did our chances of finishing with the pace group. They were long gone by this point, but that didn't matter. We were there to go the distance, nothing more. An 80 degree day is wonderful if you're out doing yard work, going to the zoo, or having a picnic. If you're running, 80 degrees is f***ing hot, and it's dangerous. If you don't drink enough water and sports drink to replenish the electrolytes you're losing, bad things can happen. You stop sweating, then the condensed sweat already on your body turns to solid salt. Then you get goosebumps. Sometimes these problems can still arise even if you take proper precautions. Pritha had plenty of fluids, as well as electrolyte-replenishment tablets, and still had salty skin and goosebumps by the end of the run.
The last 3 miles were really hard for me. I wanted to walk, but walking hurt just as much as running, so I decided to just suck it up and finish the damn thing. When we got back to the starting area and I felt the air conditioning hit me, I was oh so happy. Pritha was right there with me, and Ellen came in a few minutes later. Mandy had gone home, taken a shower, packed up her baby daughter, and come back to meet us for brunch. Eggs, potatoes, and wheat toast (no butter). Delicious.
When compared to my 20 mile run, I was in much better shape afterward on this one. I'm still walking like a zombie, but I can deal with it. The one thing I wasn't prepared for was chafing. Or, I should say, I thought I had prepared for it perfectly. However, the Bodyglide apparently didn't make it to one very important spot. Ready for this? TMI on the way... my buttcrack. Yup. When I got home, got in the shower, and the soapy water hit the area, my yowls of pain were reminiscent of a cat going for a car ride. If you're not sure what that sounds like, click here.
Buttcrack pain aside, I'm doing great. I'm proud of myself. 22 miles! If you'd told my 264-lb. self that I'd be running 22 miles, I would have thought you were playing a cruel joke. Now the only cruel joke is that I waited this long to be the person I now am. Can I get a WOOT WOOT!
Since I was going 22 and my friends were going 20, I arrived at the site early and ran 2 by myself. The temperature was hovering around 60 degrees, but it was already humid. Fog hung low to the ground and created an eerie, autumn-like start to the run. The cool weather wouldn't stick around long, though. By the end of our run, the temperature would reach 80.
When I got back to the starting point (inside a shopping mall), there were probably 200 people standing around, waiting to get going. I weaved through the crowd and found my friends, and we talked about our expectations for the morning. It was Pritha, Ellen, Mandy, and me. These were the women who got me through the 20-miler from hell, and I was happy to be running with them again.
The pacers from the Kansas City Marathon were running with us today, so my friends and I decided to run with the 4:50 pacer. That means that, if we followed this girl, we'd pretty much be guaranteed to finish the race in under 5 hours. Even though this was just a training run, we wanted to try an "official" pace team to see what it was like. We would also be running 9 miles of the actual marathon course that I'll be running on October 18th.
The first 2.5 miles took us through local neighborhoods. I was feeling good, but we were still having trouble keeping up with our pacer. She seemed to be going way too fast, and a couple Garmin GPS units confirmed this. At mile 3, Mandy was in a lot of pain from an ankle injury, so she wisely decided to call it a day. Runners are great at giving advice about resting, taking it easy, and carefully nursing injuries. But, few runners have the smarts to know when to take their own advice. Mandy does.
We got on a gravel trail and wound our way north. All the pace groups somehow got jumbled together at this point. The 4:50 group was way ahead, while the 4:30 and 4:40 groups lagged behind. We were all in a big pack, and it felt good to be with such a large group of people, so we just went with it and didn't try to catch up to the 4:50 girl.
In all of the literature I've read about marathon running, I've always read that a rookie mistake is to get cocky and go too fast early in the run. So, of course you can guess what I did. Leaving Pritha and Ellen behind, I effortlessly (or so I thought) caught up with 4:50 and stayed with her for quite a while. I knew my friends were close behind. Then came the hill.
I knew it was coming, and I knew it would be hard. I drive by Sunset Hill (yeah, it even has a name) twice each day during my work week. Since I've been in training, I've always looked upon it with ominous dread while driving past. Today, Sunset Hill and I officially got acquainted.
I kept my eyes straight ahead, pumped my arms, and got to the top of that damn hill. Even though I'd made it, I was exhausted, and I knew that I'd made a mistake in going out so quickly. At the 10 mile marker (12 miles for me), I met back up with Pritha and Ellen. Pritha's knee was hurting, but it was manageable. Ellen was having a horrible time breathing, but she kept going. We were all in pain, but we ran anyway.
As the mercury climbed, so did our chances of finishing with the pace group. They were long gone by this point, but that didn't matter. We were there to go the distance, nothing more. An 80 degree day is wonderful if you're out doing yard work, going to the zoo, or having a picnic. If you're running, 80 degrees is f***ing hot, and it's dangerous. If you don't drink enough water and sports drink to replenish the electrolytes you're losing, bad things can happen. You stop sweating, then the condensed sweat already on your body turns to solid salt. Then you get goosebumps. Sometimes these problems can still arise even if you take proper precautions. Pritha had plenty of fluids, as well as electrolyte-replenishment tablets, and still had salty skin and goosebumps by the end of the run.
The last 3 miles were really hard for me. I wanted to walk, but walking hurt just as much as running, so I decided to just suck it up and finish the damn thing. When we got back to the starting area and I felt the air conditioning hit me, I was oh so happy. Pritha was right there with me, and Ellen came in a few minutes later. Mandy had gone home, taken a shower, packed up her baby daughter, and come back to meet us for brunch. Eggs, potatoes, and wheat toast (no butter). Delicious.
When compared to my 20 mile run, I was in much better shape afterward on this one. I'm still walking like a zombie, but I can deal with it. The one thing I wasn't prepared for was chafing. Or, I should say, I thought I had prepared for it perfectly. However, the Bodyglide apparently didn't make it to one very important spot. Ready for this? TMI on the way... my buttcrack. Yup. When I got home, got in the shower, and the soapy water hit the area, my yowls of pain were reminiscent of a cat going for a car ride. If you're not sure what that sounds like, click here.
Buttcrack pain aside, I'm doing great. I'm proud of myself. 22 miles! If you'd told my 264-lb. self that I'd be running 22 miles, I would have thought you were playing a cruel joke. Now the only cruel joke is that I waited this long to be the person I now am. Can I get a WOOT WOOT!
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Scare tactics
I ate McDonald's last night. Again.
After my high-and-mighty post about high fructose corn syrup yesterday, I now feel like a total hypocrite. What's wrong with me? Why do I keep doing this?
As I was losing weight, I forced myself to watch shows like Big Medicine, Inside Brookhaven Obesity Clinic, and I Eat 33,000 Calories a Day. These are the people I could have been. People don't believe me, but I firmly believe I could have reached 400, 500, or even 600+ pounds if I didn't make a change.
My addiction to food never went away when I lost weight. It was dormant most of the time, only making an appearance when I was in an unfamiliar food situation, like a party or a buffet. I never kept unhealthy food in the house, so it was difficult for the addiction to come out. But lately, I've been seeking it out. McDonald's here, pizza there. As you already know, I've regained a few pounds.
I now feel like another person named Morgan...Morgan Spurlock from Supersize Me. Addicted to fast food all over again, hating myself for it, and feeling powerless to stop it. I'm happy while I'm eating it, then depressed when it's over.
The fact that I'm in marathon training is the only thing saving me from ballooning to my old size. If these eating habits continue after the race is over, I'll regain it all, and them some. I could wind up like the people on those shows. That can't happen.
I quit smoking cigarettes, so why is kicking fast food so difficult?
After my high-and-mighty post about high fructose corn syrup yesterday, I now feel like a total hypocrite. What's wrong with me? Why do I keep doing this?
As I was losing weight, I forced myself to watch shows like Big Medicine, Inside Brookhaven Obesity Clinic, and I Eat 33,000 Calories a Day. These are the people I could have been. People don't believe me, but I firmly believe I could have reached 400, 500, or even 600+ pounds if I didn't make a change.
My addiction to food never went away when I lost weight. It was dormant most of the time, only making an appearance when I was in an unfamiliar food situation, like a party or a buffet. I never kept unhealthy food in the house, so it was difficult for the addiction to come out. But lately, I've been seeking it out. McDonald's here, pizza there. As you already know, I've regained a few pounds.
I now feel like another person named Morgan...Morgan Spurlock from Supersize Me. Addicted to fast food all over again, hating myself for it, and feeling powerless to stop it. I'm happy while I'm eating it, then depressed when it's over.
The fact that I'm in marathon training is the only thing saving me from ballooning to my old size. If these eating habits continue after the race is over, I'll regain it all, and them some. I could wind up like the people on those shows. That can't happen.
I quit smoking cigarettes, so why is kicking fast food so difficult?
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