Thursday was a rest day for me, and Keith left early that morning for Atlanta, so I worked really late. Fortunately for me, he's only going to be gone through the weekend, because it seems like I can't wait for him to clear the door before I completely derail. I know part of it is because I'm getting older, but I really, really don't like it when he's out of town.
The first couple of trips were fine. I actually enjoyed some quality 'me' time, which is something I don't get very often. But the last couple have been getting steadily worse for me. Maybe it's the weather....it's been raining steadily for a week, and the 'no sunshine' thing is working my last SAD* nerve.
Thursday night, for the first time since....well, since Keith went out of town the last time....I binged.
- Was it a HUGE binge? No.
- Did you clean out the cupboards and/or the fridge? Er, no.
- Was the house destroyed in the process? Not hardly.
- Was I destroyed in the process? Hmm....
Good question. If you'd asked me Thursday night (the night before my weigh-in, I might add), I'd have probably said yes. But in the grand scheme of things, of course not. I did learn some valuable tidbits about myself, though.
See....after 9 months, I'm used to my days and my eating following a nice little sterile plan. I know exactly how my day is going to go, I plan things very carefully, and follow my plan to the letter. And I get results....consistent and measurable progress.
I *like* that. It makes my OCD tendencies dance with joy. My world is settled and in order.
But a binge, no matter how minor, puts all my plans in turmoil. My insides go into a major uproar, and all of a sudden...I'm transported back 9 months, sure that I've just undone everything...everything I've worked so hard to achieve. In a matter of moments, I will regain all the weight, I will become that sad, sad woman I was before. And I will wake up and realize that all this was just a dream.
Real life ain't that way, sistah. Wake the f$%k up.
You are not...repeat not...going to fall apart over One Bad Choice, any more than One Bad Choice got you there in the first place, or any more than One Good Choice got you where you are today.
I have blogged about consistency before, I think....about learning to trust the process. It does no good to mourn the fact that I made a bad choice....that's life. It's gonna happen. I need to shake the dust off and move on....and not let one bad choice become two....one bad day become two...one bad week become two....one bad year....
You get the picture.
I will have bad days. Thursday was a bad day. I made a bad choice, and I paid for it Friday morning with a wonky weigh-in that I knew wasn't right....(but was secretly petrified that it was).
Friday, of course, was a run day. My eating was strictly on-plan all day, I got in good water (which I've struggled with all week), and I was excited to get back out there and try to undo some of the damage I felt like I'd done on Thursday night. Since I had to work late again, I planned to go back down to the gym and hit the dreadmill, but instead of doing intervals, I decided to just set the speed at 5.0 and just run.
I arrived to an empty gym...just the way I like it. I hopped on the machine in front of the big screen, and got in a nice 5 minute warmup, and pushed the speed up to 5.0. It felt too slow... too slow, people...so I bumped it to 5.2, and was clipping along at an 11:30 pace. I was a happy camper.
And then, this guy came in.
Ok....so, the gym is an employee gym that's located on the first floor of the domiciliary at the VA hospital where I work. It's a great facility, and I love working here. I'm very fortunate to have the gym at my disposal, and as much as I hate treadmills, they are what is going to get me through the winter months when I have no choice to run outside.
But this guy (a fellow employee) let me know that he was about to open the gym to the dom patients. Apparently, they do this every night for an hour.
Now, I love that they do that. I think it's awesome. But, while I'm sure this is a completely unfounded concern, I have no desire to be running in my track shorts while patients with possible mental issues are working out with heavy weights behind me.
So....after 5 minutes of running at 5.2...I shut it down, grabbed my stuff and headed to the car.
I was still hoping against hope that despite the rain and darkness, I would maybe be able to stop at one of the high school tracks on the way through town, if they were lit well enough for me to see where I was running.
They were well lit, alright. On Friday night, are you kidding?
Two for two, then....no running. I headed home, with only ten glorious minutes of running under my belt.
This morning, I got up early to head into work for a 12-hour overtime shift. As I was getting dressed, I did something I never do....I weighed again. Friday's was so wonky, I decided to give it another shot, and was pleased to see that I'm down another pound, which made me feel much better about everything...not because I had a loss, but because it was more proof that the process works, if I will just trust it, instead of freaking out over a bad choice. Today will be a bust for anything substantial, but I'm going to try to figure out a way to sneak in a run somehow. I know tomorrow will be an active one. It's supposed to be raining all weekend, but I've got some big projects at home that will give me a real workout, so I'm looking forward to that. I just want to find a way to get some running in, too. I've only got one more week left before my last 5K of the season next Saturday, so I've got to make this week count.
I know I'll work it out. It will all work out, if I can just learn to believe in myself enough to trust that this process works. Will I be able to salvage my goals for October?
Only one way to find out. Stay tuned!
(*Seasonal Affective Disorder)
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