Monday and Tuesday of this week were brutal, in terms of work. We got new printers, and on top of that, just in those two days alone (not to mention the rest of the week), I printed over four reams of paper. By Tuesday night, my throat was scratchy and raw, and I had a splitting headache. There was no part of me that wanted to run...that's how bad I felt. Fortunately for me, my running buddy Sheila wanted to meet after work and run on station, effectively eliminating any excuse I had to not run, since all I had to do was change clothes and step out the door.
We ran a hair over 2 miles before she had to take her leave. I really, really wanted to stop then, but I decided to try to get in a bit more before throwing in the towel. I managed another mile and a quarter, and then walked another mile to cool down. It wasn't pretty...it was very piecemeal, but it gave me four miles on a night I didn't want to do any.
Wednesday, I stayed my butt at home. My head was still pounding when I woke up and my throat was raw. Still, I felt encouraged by the fact that there seemed to be no congestion or runny nose with it, which pointed to the printer being the culprit, rather than the crud that's making the rounds. I'll take the printer any day, thanks. I spent the day in my PJs, coffee pot at my side, being miserable, and thanking my lucky stars that it wasn't a run day. The bad spot was that we hadn't gone grocery shopping yet, so the cupboards were pretty much bare. Consequently, when Keith got home inquiring about dinner, the first thing out of my mouth was as startling to me as it was to him.
"Pizza."
He looked at me so funny (which actually made me feel really good, oddly enough. It lets me know just how far I've come in the last 8 1/2 months). But to his credit, he only asked me what kind, to which I replied that Philly cheesesteak pizza sounded divine. It did....with its lack of tomato sauce that might irritate my throat, it sounded like just what the doctor ordered.
Half a pizza later, I did not feel guilty. I decided that if I didn't lose an ounce this week, it was totally worth it. This is the difference in my attitude now, as opposed to before I started this journey. Before, I would have been completely eaten up in guilt for doing something so horrendous, enough to have probably thrown me completely off the wagon in terms of reaching my goals. Now...it barely even registers, and certainly didn't cause me any angst at all. It was a calculated decision, based on all the information I had at hand. I knew the risks...I weighed them (no pun intended), and I made an informed choice. There was no guilt. I was not sorry. And I enjoyed every bite immensely.
And you know what? I didn't fall off the wagon. The sun came up the next morning, and I was right back on track, eagerly looking forward to another run day. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't...worried is not quite the right word....curious might be better...about the impact that pizza would have on my weigh in this week, though.
Thursday, I felt much better. Even though my throat was still sore, my head didn't hurt any more, and I felt good enough to have a solid 3 1/2 mile run at a 12:39 pace. I'll take that any day.
This morning, despite pizza, I got on the scale to a 2.4 pound loss! That puts me at 206.4, point four pounds away from a total of 75 pounds lost. To say I was happy was an understatement. I'm now less than 7 pounds away from One-derland. And that brings up concerns of its own. Passing that goal will be pretty significant for me, since 199 was as low as I got last time before I panicked and stopped. I feel so much more in control this time, that I'm really not thinking that it's going to be an issue. But I'm also much, much more cautious in my approach. And I think that's a lot healthier than the 'full steam ahead, and damn the torpedoes' attitude I had last time.
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