That was not a good week at all.
I haven't posted because wow, I've been sick. I spent last Monday night on the floor of the bathroom, with a few breaks when I thought the coast was clear and I could manage to sleep the rest of the night without having to throw up. (I was mistaken, to say the least.) The moral of the story where Easter was concerned was that if a friend at the dinner says she was, up until about 24 hours before, sick with intestinal flu, then don't eat the food she brought and wash your hands a lot.
Tuesday, I couldn't eat. My husband made a frantic run to the grocery store before work-- literally, he had to walk to the store in a huge hurry because we have no car and the carryout around the corner doesn't open until 9 AM-- to pick up Power-Ade and applesauce and bananas. I managed the Power-Ade, some applesauce, and a banana. We managed to get me hydrated again, but food-wise the day was a wash because, well, no food. No exercise, either, which goes without saying because I could barely make it from the couch to the bathroom and back again without needing a nap afterward. Not a good day.
Apparently once you're at a certain BMI, dehydration shows on you like crazy, because my husband took a look at me while I was gingerly pulling my smelly clothes off to take a shower and he said "Wow, you've lost about five pounds since yesterday. You look like hell." Very true: I looked like someone had deflated me. My husband wanted to put me on the scale to see what water weight I'd lost, but I had no intention of seeing a much-lower-than-normal number show up and forever remember that the only time I saw that number was when I'd been ill. No thank you.
Wednesday, I tried eating again. Very gently. I managed about half of my usual caloric intake, most of which came through Power-Ade. Didn't exercise, because I had enough to deal with just getting to work and sitting still. Thursday, I felt just fine; I walked on the treadmill, bounced around and ate normally, if just a little more careful than usual. Friday, the icky was back-- I made it through my yoga DVD but almost threw up when my husband wandered into the room with a re-heated piece of deep-dish sausage pizza (oh, ick, that sickly-sweet smell) and had to treat myself very carefully the whole rest of the day. I managed to keep operating normally by eating pretty much nothing, which was not a great idea but it meant I didn't need to take another sick day.
Saturday, I felt pretty well. Which was a good thing, because it was nice out for a change and so we took an unplanned hike. 12,000 steps on the pedometer before noon, holy cow. Between trips to the grocery store and whatnot after that, I made it to 20,000 steps, which on a Saturday is phenomenal. That's on top of the jog I did that morning, too.
Sunday, we had guests over for a special occasion and I took a day off. I jogged, but after that things went awry and kept going, and I just gave up and gave myself permission. Possibly not the best idea. I'm doing my best to stay on plan today as a result.
I keep playing with meringue cookies, to my husband's dismay. He wants "REAL cookies", and so while he's proud of me for trying to make things up from scratch I think he's tired of the results not being what he considers cookie-like. Poor man.
Honestly, the whole week was a wash. I was sort of irritated with myself for making bad food choices while I was recovering-- I'm still too dependent on self-medicating with food instead of diagnosing the problem and applying the proper remedies, or just (gasp!) living with the fact of being in a bad mood or being in discomfort. Sigh.
I may have our money situation back on track, though. So there's that.
Tuesday, I couldn't eat. My husband made a frantic run to the grocery store before work-- literally, he had to walk to the store in a huge hurry because we have no car and the carryout around the corner doesn't open until 9 AM-- to pick up Power-Ade and applesauce and bananas. I managed the Power-Ade, some applesauce, and a banana. We managed to get me hydrated again, but food-wise the day was a wash because, well, no food. No exercise, either, which goes without saying because I could barely make it from the couch to the bathroom and back again without needing a nap afterward. Not a good day.
Apparently once you're at a certain BMI, dehydration shows on you like crazy, because my husband took a look at me while I was gingerly pulling my smelly clothes off to take a shower and he said "Wow, you've lost about five pounds since yesterday. You look like hell." Very true: I looked like someone had deflated me. My husband wanted to put me on the scale to see what water weight I'd lost, but I had no intention of seeing a much-lower-than-normal number show up and forever remember that the only time I saw that number was when I'd been ill. No thank you.
Wednesday, I tried eating again. Very gently. I managed about half of my usual caloric intake, most of which came through Power-Ade. Didn't exercise, because I had enough to deal with just getting to work and sitting still. Thursday, I felt just fine; I walked on the treadmill, bounced around and ate normally, if just a little more careful than usual. Friday, the icky was back-- I made it through my yoga DVD but almost threw up when my husband wandered into the room with a re-heated piece of deep-dish sausage pizza (oh, ick, that sickly-sweet smell) and had to treat myself very carefully the whole rest of the day. I managed to keep operating normally by eating pretty much nothing, which was not a great idea but it meant I didn't need to take another sick day.
Saturday, I felt pretty well. Which was a good thing, because it was nice out for a change and so we took an unplanned hike. 12,000 steps on the pedometer before noon, holy cow. Between trips to the grocery store and whatnot after that, I made it to 20,000 steps, which on a Saturday is phenomenal. That's on top of the jog I did that morning, too.
Sunday, we had guests over for a special occasion and I took a day off. I jogged, but after that things went awry and kept going, and I just gave up and gave myself permission. Possibly not the best idea. I'm doing my best to stay on plan today as a result.
I keep playing with meringue cookies, to my husband's dismay. He wants "REAL cookies", and so while he's proud of me for trying to make things up from scratch I think he's tired of the results not being what he considers cookie-like. Poor man.
Honestly, the whole week was a wash. I was sort of irritated with myself for making bad food choices while I was recovering-- I'm still too dependent on self-medicating with food instead of diagnosing the problem and applying the proper remedies, or just (gasp!) living with the fact of being in a bad mood or being in discomfort. Sigh.
I may have our money situation back on track, though. So there's that.
posted by Meg at
2:18 PM
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