... mayonnaise tastes good.
Perhaps you were expecting me to pull a John Travolta and say "Bacon tastes good. Pork chops taste good." Nope, sorry. I had to tweak that classic line from Pulp Fiction just a little, because there was no better way to introduce you to this lovely product:
When I first saw this on my friend Michael's blog, I thought it was a joke. Nope, it's real. Baconnaise. Can you believe that? I thought I'd seen it all with the fountain of ranch dressing.
I don't know what's worse: the fact that there is such a product, or the fact that I kind of want to try it.
*Morgan hangs her head in shame.*
Have a happy Halloween! I'm going as a jar of Baconnaise.
I've never had a one night stand, but the thoughts and feelings I had this morning were eerily similar to what I would think the "morning after" guilt feels like. Literally the moment I woke up, just two words came to my head. Binge. Guilt.
Although I've managed to stay away from fast food since Sunday (quite a big deal for me lately), that doesn't mean I'm not susceptible to binges. Last night, things were going really well. It was my second day on the wagon, and I was feeling great. Then, for some stupid reason, I thought I should have a tiny snack before bed. Looking back, I don't even remember what that first morsel was, but it was the catalyst for what came next. Lots of toast with Laughing Cow cheese. Fiber One toaster pastries. Low fat string cheese. All healthy things when taken separately. Together, a perfect storm of gluttony.
This morning, I grabbed some freshly-laundered khakis and pulled them on with ease. "Oh good, maybe things are turning around," I thought. Buttoning them, however, was a whole different proposition. Nearly in tears, I took them back off and put on some jeans. They're snug too, but they don't cut off my circulation. They are size 12 jeans, for those of you who are curious. When I was on my way down the scale, size 12 was like the Garden of Eden of the pants world. It was the first size I'd wear in years that wasn't considered "plus." Now that they're tight on me, they are a warning, in huge, red, flashing letters: DON'T GET ANY BIGGER.
Logically, I know I don't look like this anymore:
But, I feel like that on the inside today.
I've started to live in fear of putting my pants through the washer and dryer. It seems like each time I do, they get a size smaller. Wishful thinking, I know. My pants aren't getting smaller; I'm getting bigger.
At my personal trainer appointment on Saturday, the trainer put me on the scale, and measured my body fat as well. The body fat percentage was 30%. I'm not quite ready to reveal my weight to the world wide web right now. However, I promise, no matter what the number is- I will post it on Saturday. I just want a few days to see what I can do.
Apart from my showdown with the scale, my appointment went well. When I entered the facility and met The Punisher (as he will be called henceforth), I was slightly taken aback when I saw he wasn't a beefcake. In fact, it looks like he's eaten a little too much beef and cake lately. I'm not one to judge a person's fitness on his or her size, though. As I've seen time and time again, overweight people can often put skinny people to shame with their physical abilities.
He put me on the treadmill for a few minutes to warm up. I wasn't very enthused about being on the "dreadmill" after a long run that very morning, but it was only a warm up. He then put me through several circuits of weights, cardio, squats, crunches, and even some boxing. Switching exercises so frequently kept things interesting and moving along.
When I walked out (after pre-paying for 4 more sessions), I wondered if I'd gotten my money's worth. For some reason, I was expecting to be beaten and bludgeoned into a tenderized, weepy pulp. But, I wasn't even sore, and I wasn't sweating very much.
The next day, I was whistling a different tune, and the name of that tune was "When Oh When (Will My Thighs Work Again)." The Punisher hath reigned his sneaky, delayed-onset torture upon me. To add insult to agony, he gave me homework. I did my first assignment tonight, and I'm sure I'll be even more sore tomorrow (if that's even possible). My next appointment is Thursday.
I shall now hobble to bed.
The wagon. I'm on it. Again.
I met up with my running group at 7:30 this morning with the intention of putting in 6 miles. Should be chump change compared to last weekend, I thought. Not so much. I got it done, but it was more difficult than I thought it would be.
After we were done, we got breakfast and then popped into Macy's. They were having a big 150th "birthday" celebration, and there was a huge tower of cupcakes. White cake. White icing. Sprinkles. If you're a newer reader and unfamiliar with my love of cupcakes, you can catch up by reading this post.
I turned it down, which surprised my friends, and me as well. Part of the reason I turned it down is because I was finally able to book an appointment with a personal trainer, and I'm meeting him at noon today. I didn't want my first session to be tainted by cupcake confessionals. I haven't even met the guy yet, and already I'm afraid of him giving me a scornful or disappointed look.
I'll be sure and write a post about the experience. Hopefully I'll get a good vibe from him and want to book more sessions.
Wednesdays and Fridays are my nights to go see my grandmother at her nursing home. On Wednesday, I brought along pictures from the marathon to show her. Old people love to look at pictures. Grammy likes it when I bring my camera and hook it up to her giant TV so she can see everything on the big screen. It somehow makes her think that I'm technologically savvy because I can do this. She's always telling the people who work there that her granddaughter "works on computers." It's cute.
Anyway, I've heard many overweight people say that they didn't realize how big they were until they saw a picture of themselves. As I was viewing my image over and over again on a TV the size of my previously obese torso, I took notice of something.
Take a gander my mid-section there. It's gotten bigger lately. Sure, I'm all smiles in these photos, and I have my medal to hide behind, but who am I kidding? I'm gaining weight, and it's only going to get worse unless I take some action. Weight loss, in my opinion, is 75% nutrition and 25% exercise. No matter how many miles I'm running, fast food is not good for me. Running a marathon does not suddenly turn McDonald's into health food. I also have come to the realization that I'm putting my health in the hands of others too much. I'm not taking responsibility. Angie and I are sabotaging each other right and left. There's no malice in it. It's not as if she wants me to gain my weight back, nor do I have that wish for her. However, we still manage to enable each other with all this junk food. That has to stop.
None of the 6 personal trainers I've emailed or called have contacted me back. I took that as some sort of sign that it's not time to get back on the wagon yet. Ridiculous! I can't believe I'm making those kinds of bargains and excuses again.
Like many people who struggle with weight, I seem to have a split personality. One half of me is the confident person who can run marathons, plan and prepare healthy meals, and stick to a routine. The other half is an insecure glutton who can only think about where her next junk food fix will come from. My brain is a boxing ring, and both of these personalities are duking it out. The glutton seems to have won the last several rounds. It's time to turn things around.
I went ahead and signed up for the Gobbler Grind half marathon next month. I plan on running 3-4 days per week. I'm also excited to get back into strength training 2-3 times per week. I had to give that up 2 weeks before the marathon, and I can't wait to pick up a set of dumbbells again. I really love feeling like a strong, buff bitch after a weights workout. More than anything, however, I MUST get my food choices back under control. That's the key.
During my heaviest years, I didn't like being photographed. As I lost weight, I stopped hiding and started smiling for the camera. I don't want to hide again.
With the marathon behind me, I'm looking for a new goal. My running friends are all thinking about their next race. Maybe a 10K or a half-marathon next month? Hmm.... I don't know. Am I ready for that?
All my running books say I need a few weeks off from hard training, especially after the beating I've just put myself through. I haven't exercised since Saturday. At first, I wasn't physically able to exercise, since I could hardly move my legs. Yesterday, however, I was pretty much back to normal. It was strange and surprisingly uncomfortable to be watching The Biggest Loser from the couch, rather than the treadmill. I felt guilty. In fact, the post-marathon depression that I've heard about is here, big time. Yesterday I felt incredibly down. I kept thinking that I'll never again feel like I did when I crossed that finish line. I'll never have another first marathon. Still, there's nothing I can do about that, so I have to try my best to move on.
I put in a few emails to some personal trainers around Kansas City. I figured a few sessions would be a good idea. Now that I don't have the "I'm a training for a marathon and I need a lot of carbs" card to play, there's no reason why I can't lose the weight I gained during training.
My next move is to just plan my next move. There are lots of options. I just have to research them, pick something, and get on board.
Here's a close-up shot of the medal I earned after the marathon. It's about the size of my palm, and it's nice and heavy. Very cool!
