Thank God that's over.
Wow. PMS like that is not to be trifled with. I'm hoping that this time, it's actually over; I had a bad day Saturday in which I rebelled against everything, a decent-feeling day on Sunday, then went to hell yesterday. I really, really, really hope it's over.
Yesterday, I wore my pedometer wrong so by the time I got to work I'd only logged 850 steps; this seems to have set me up for badness for the rest of the day. Yoga had gone fairly well, even though I hadn't felt very inspired-- even in a bad mood, it's hard to avoid feeling good about bending just a little bit more in areas that I am traditionally non-bendy in. Once we got to work, though, and work happened and invitations from other people started flooding my e-mail, and my pedometer was 2,000 steps behind... well, the PMS took over. I gave up on the pedometer. I barely avoided being unforgivably rude to almost everyone. I wept in my office. I scoured my purse for change and came up with enough to buy not one but TWO candy bars from the vending machine. I barely managed to keep to my golden rules of a) the lunchroom does not exist and b) the offices with giant open candy bowls do not exist. (I avoid the lunchroom at all costs and have created the habit of looking at the other side of the hall when I pass the offending offices-- if I don't know there's free food to be had, I won't be tormented by it.) I did still manage to walk across the Loop on the way to and from work and use the stairs instead of escalators-- habits that my husband and I now keep to unless one of us is miserably ill or injured. That's something, I guess.
I ate two helpings of the chicken-and-dumplings dinner that my husband (bless his heart) put together; granted, it was the lowest-fat version he could make, and it was brimming with veggies, but it was still emotional eating for me. I ate extra fruit. I made myself popcorn, which seems to have finally put an end to the eating for the night-- I air-pop and then toss the popcorn with Frank's hot sauce, which I actually like better than the light microwave popcorns or dousing my air-popped stuff with butter.
So much for just allowing myself to feel lousy without attempting to self-medicate. Try again next time, I guess. Managing to keep to some of my habits was a step in the right direction.
It has occurred to me that taking allergy medication didn't really help the situation. I was groggy most of the day, was rendered narcoleptic on the train ride home, fell asleep at the end of the evening while using my husband's leg as a pillow, and then got to bed and... couldn't sleep. I didn't dare get out of bed because I was pretty sure that being alone in the middle of the night with a fresh batch of groceries in the house would trigger a binge. It took about three hours, but I did eventually get to sleep.
Today, I was groggy as hell when the alarm clock went off but, strangely, my husband was not. (And he almost never wakes up with the alarm clock; my morning job is to scratch his back and shake him gently until he stumbles and grumbles his way out of bed.) He got me up and out and moving, cuddled me after breakfast and then sent me to the treadmill with the parting message: "You should really bust ass on your jog today. For some weird reason you're almost always more awake after you work hard than if you cut yourself some slack." Good thing he said that, too, because I'd been planning on cutting myself some slack. And, as always, the first five minutes were haaaaard and I hated it, but then I got in the groove and some of that amazed pride crept in-- that "holy cow, my body is actually capable of this, how about that?" feeling.
I chose not to bring change with me to work, so I couldn't be tempted by the vending machines. I briefly considered bringing two snacks instead of one (I tend to tuck fruit into my bag before leaving the house), but left the house with just one. I figured out a new-to-me method of walking (I'm slowly working away from a time when I walked on tiptoe all the time, and so teaching myself to walk like a normal person is one of my random hobbies) which enabled me to keep up with my husband's long-legged gait without having to scurry-- it also kept my knees from over-extending and kept my pelvis tilted the correct way, both of which are things I've been trying to work on. Felt good. Felt powerful. The pedometer was on correctly today (a fact I double-checked before leaving the house), and I've been tacking on a few extra dozen steps here and there. I've sucked down almost half my water for the day. These are all good things. Pro-active things. Getting-back-on-the-stick things.
My weight was up on Sunday, which was probably half water weight because of the eat-beyond-your-limits day on Saturday, but I've set my internal alert level to go off when I go up 5 pounds, so I'm back at battle stations as of today. Better to spend a few weeks being ultra-good to lose 5 pounds than be forced to spend a few months being ultra-good to lose 10 or 15 pounds. Besides, I'm just now starting to buy clothes again; I don't want to spend money on a wardrobe I won't be able to wear this spring.
Yesterday, I wore my pedometer wrong so by the time I got to work I'd only logged 850 steps; this seems to have set me up for badness for the rest of the day. Yoga had gone fairly well, even though I hadn't felt very inspired-- even in a bad mood, it's hard to avoid feeling good about bending just a little bit more in areas that I am traditionally non-bendy in. Once we got to work, though, and work happened and invitations from other people started flooding my e-mail, and my pedometer was 2,000 steps behind... well, the PMS took over. I gave up on the pedometer. I barely avoided being unforgivably rude to almost everyone. I wept in my office. I scoured my purse for change and came up with enough to buy not one but TWO candy bars from the vending machine. I barely managed to keep to my golden rules of a) the lunchroom does not exist and b) the offices with giant open candy bowls do not exist. (I avoid the lunchroom at all costs and have created the habit of looking at the other side of the hall when I pass the offending offices-- if I don't know there's free food to be had, I won't be tormented by it.) I did still manage to walk across the Loop on the way to and from work and use the stairs instead of escalators-- habits that my husband and I now keep to unless one of us is miserably ill or injured. That's something, I guess.
I ate two helpings of the chicken-and-dumplings dinner that my husband (bless his heart) put together; granted, it was the lowest-fat version he could make, and it was brimming with veggies, but it was still emotional eating for me. I ate extra fruit. I made myself popcorn, which seems to have finally put an end to the eating for the night-- I air-pop and then toss the popcorn with Frank's hot sauce, which I actually like better than the light microwave popcorns or dousing my air-popped stuff with butter.
So much for just allowing myself to feel lousy without attempting to self-medicate. Try again next time, I guess. Managing to keep to some of my habits was a step in the right direction.
It has occurred to me that taking allergy medication didn't really help the situation. I was groggy most of the day, was rendered narcoleptic on the train ride home, fell asleep at the end of the evening while using my husband's leg as a pillow, and then got to bed and... couldn't sleep. I didn't dare get out of bed because I was pretty sure that being alone in the middle of the night with a fresh batch of groceries in the house would trigger a binge. It took about three hours, but I did eventually get to sleep.
Today, I was groggy as hell when the alarm clock went off but, strangely, my husband was not. (And he almost never wakes up with the alarm clock; my morning job is to scratch his back and shake him gently until he stumbles and grumbles his way out of bed.) He got me up and out and moving, cuddled me after breakfast and then sent me to the treadmill with the parting message: "You should really bust ass on your jog today. For some weird reason you're almost always more awake after you work hard than if you cut yourself some slack." Good thing he said that, too, because I'd been planning on cutting myself some slack. And, as always, the first five minutes were haaaaard and I hated it, but then I got in the groove and some of that amazed pride crept in-- that "holy cow, my body is actually capable of this, how about that?" feeling.
I chose not to bring change with me to work, so I couldn't be tempted by the vending machines. I briefly considered bringing two snacks instead of one (I tend to tuck fruit into my bag before leaving the house), but left the house with just one. I figured out a new-to-me method of walking (I'm slowly working away from a time when I walked on tiptoe all the time, and so teaching myself to walk like a normal person is one of my random hobbies) which enabled me to keep up with my husband's long-legged gait without having to scurry-- it also kept my knees from over-extending and kept my pelvis tilted the correct way, both of which are things I've been trying to work on. Felt good. Felt powerful. The pedometer was on correctly today (a fact I double-checked before leaving the house), and I've been tacking on a few extra dozen steps here and there. I've sucked down almost half my water for the day. These are all good things. Pro-active things. Getting-back-on-the-stick things.
My weight was up on Sunday, which was probably half water weight because of the eat-beyond-your-limits day on Saturday, but I've set my internal alert level to go off when I go up 5 pounds, so I'm back at battle stations as of today. Better to spend a few weeks being ultra-good to lose 5 pounds than be forced to spend a few months being ultra-good to lose 10 or 15 pounds. Besides, I'm just now starting to buy clothes again; I don't want to spend money on a wardrobe I won't be able to wear this spring.
posted by Meg at
9:18 AM
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