The plan needs tweaking.
Okay, so I was pumped about the Coup Chopsticks. I did not, however, take them with me to the Fun Run last night because I thought I didn't need 'em.
Sadly, this was not the case. Because there was free food after the race. And when free food collided with a craving for sweets I've been having (lord, now I'm able to identify cravings, last year I swore they didn't exist for me), I gladly accepted the PowerBar. Because it said it was cinnamon-bun flavored! And was "dipped"!
Okay, first of all, it was free, and I briefly deluded myself into believing that I deserved/needed this after running three miles. And I was craving sweet things. So I took it. And, because this was unplanned, and because nobody was watching, and because I hadn't brought along my damn Coup Chopsticks to remind me that free, unplanned food is a stupid thing to splurge on, I ate it on the way home.
(OW, by the way, is it possible to make those things harder to chew? My jaw actually ached after eating that. This seems a true sign that I should shun these things in the future.)
After the fact, I took a look at the nutrition facts. Aieee. Well, there went my second dinner (Fun Run nights I fuel up twice on small meals, before and after).
However, then I got home, and my Hub, as foretold, had given himself a pity party splurge. Beer, pizza, the whole shebang. And I still hadn't dealt with my craving for sweets, dammit, because that PowerBar just did not do the trick, "dipped" or no. Out of sheer pique, I made myself a dinner of leftovers. Which still didn't do the trick, because GOD DAMMIT I WANTED SWEETS. My darling Hub chose this moment to fall asleep on the couch (due to beer, general sickness and high stress levels, and not enough sleep lately) and so I went to roam the kitchen.
The kitchen was devoid of sweets. Thank GOD I completely forgot about Hubby's secret stash of brownies. I don't want to think that I'd've stolen them, but I've done worse things. I ended up contenting myself, more or less, with a bag of dried fruit. It wasn't really what I wanted. Around this point I came to grips with the fact that a) non-candy things were not going to soothe this craving, b) we had no candy in the house and I had no cash to get any from the corner store, and so c) I was just going to have to deal with the fact that there would be no candy for me tonight.
I did, however, pout. And listen to my Inner Cartman plot endlessly about what we could get in the morning, at work. Inner Cartman had concluded that clearly, our adventures with Doritos and Chex Mix had not done what needed to be done, and that in order to get past this binging thing, one last binge must be done: the candy binge, chocolate only (or possibly Reese's mini-cups, because I am apparently a whore for those things). Clearly, this sacrifice must be made so that things can get back to normal. Oh, and I should definitely pitch the Coup Chopsticks, because they're dumb and clearly they didn't work. Maybe I should even take tomorrow off from work and sit home and wallow. (And eat.) This week was trashed anyway, because of Monday and now Wednesday, and we weigh in on Friday; might as well give up, accept the gain, use the time until then to pig out properly and then start over Friday morning.
Well, good grief.
Of all the things that mark the change between Meg v.2 and Meg v.1, I think the biggest is that I don't give up quite so easily. I don't automatically assume that I was stupid, that I'm incapable, that I'm lazy, that the project is impossible, that the plan is unworkable, that the obstacle is too great to get around. Okay, granted, I usually have a nice wallow in which I briefly contemplate all those things, but after a few hours my brain starts ticking away, hashing out what went wrong and what might be done to avoid it. Thereafter is born the new plan or the changes to the old one, or both.
It's a lucky thing I'm not overly shackled by dignity, because many of these plans require that I do things out of the norm that might get me looked at funny if someone caught me in the act or if I told someone about them. And some of them are complete wackjob ideas that do not work as well in practice as they did in my head, and must be disposed of and never spoken of again... but then, a lot of them turn out to be pretty damn good, if I do say so myself. Some of them even work for other people instead of being applicable only to a Meg of my sort. The greatest thing is that I have a lot of fun scheming these things up and experimenting and playing around. I'm so glad that it turns out that my dad's madcap "hey, let's see what happens if we do THIS" brain was an inheriable trait; up until a few years ago, I didn't think I had that. Apparently I do.
The point being that although I fell down, I got back up, and was madly scheming away to myself by the time I went to bed. Scheming does a good job of drowning out the Inner Cartman.
The tweak to the old plan: not only do the Coup Chopsticks live to see another day, but I intend to keep them on me at all times. I am currently practicing different methods of this, since the small amount of dignity I do have prevents me from clipping them to my belt along with my pedometer. Currently they are is down the front of my shirt, right along my sternum, my bra holding 'em in place. Not the most comfortable thing in the world, but I'm giving it a shot for the moment since I like being aware of it, using it as a sort of talisman. Besides, it's also reminding me to keep my posture straight instead of slouching.
The additional new plan: clearly, depriving myself completely of candy isn't working. The answer to that cannot possibly be the giant bag of chocolate miniatures that the Inner Cartman has been ranting about. That said, it's really difficult for me to keep candy around without eventually committing a heinous act of bingery. Clearly, what I need is some kind of Advent calendar system-- you know, the type where you open one little door every day and there's candy behind it? I have a brilliant idea for how to construct one-- a re-useable one at that-- using a shallow cardboard box, cardboard tubes cut into rounds to serve as a sectioning device, and paper over the top so that I can cut open one (marked) section every day (and nicely labeling each day so that if I went for more than one, I'd have to do so knowing that the Hub would notice). I'm itching to work on it. Damn this workday thing!
In other news, the Fun Run last night was very nice, although nowhere as thrilling and theraputic as the first one (really, how could it be?). This time I went a good pace instead of super-slow, chugging along with the actual runners. It's nice to know I can handle it, but on the other hand... waaaaah, it wasn't as insanely easy as last time!
The Voice of the Fat Chick was heard in the valley (or rather, my brain) this morning, I'm afraid. She whined, and whined, and whined, and whined. The weights were too heavy (7.5 lbs seriously worked my poor biceps; DAMN but I feel like a wimp), the treadmill was too much to face after running just last night, the intervals were too faaaast, it was too hard for her poor huffy-puffy self to handle, noooooo! I was ready this time, and was talking back, but it was a roller-coaster ride of a run all the same. I'd give up on a certain speed, and dial it back, and the Fat Chick would whisper that oh, that's it, time to give up for good, we'll just go slow the rest of the time. At which point I'd say "Fuck off, I am NOT YOU," and push the speed up again. I was so mad at myself by the end that I pushed the speed up to 8 mph (aieeee!) for a full minute.
I kinda felt better after that.
Anyway, now it's lunchtime. We're going out. I've packed a piece of fruit and a water bottle, because I don't trust my Hub's choice in restaurants (and also, I'm cheap). And I have my Coup Chopsticks tucked down my front. This should be fun.
Sadly, this was not the case. Because there was free food after the race. And when free food collided with a craving for sweets I've been having (lord, now I'm able to identify cravings, last year I swore they didn't exist for me), I gladly accepted the PowerBar. Because it said it was cinnamon-bun flavored! And was "dipped"!
Okay, first of all, it was free, and I briefly deluded myself into believing that I deserved/needed this after running three miles. And I was craving sweet things. So I took it. And, because this was unplanned, and because nobody was watching, and because I hadn't brought along my damn Coup Chopsticks to remind me that free, unplanned food is a stupid thing to splurge on, I ate it on the way home.
(OW, by the way, is it possible to make those things harder to chew? My jaw actually ached after eating that. This seems a true sign that I should shun these things in the future.)
After the fact, I took a look at the nutrition facts. Aieee. Well, there went my second dinner (Fun Run nights I fuel up twice on small meals, before and after).
However, then I got home, and my Hub, as foretold, had given himself a pity party splurge. Beer, pizza, the whole shebang. And I still hadn't dealt with my craving for sweets, dammit, because that PowerBar just did not do the trick, "dipped" or no. Out of sheer pique, I made myself a dinner of leftovers. Which still didn't do the trick, because GOD DAMMIT I WANTED SWEETS. My darling Hub chose this moment to fall asleep on the couch (due to beer, general sickness and high stress levels, and not enough sleep lately) and so I went to roam the kitchen.
The kitchen was devoid of sweets. Thank GOD I completely forgot about Hubby's secret stash of brownies. I don't want to think that I'd've stolen them, but I've done worse things. I ended up contenting myself, more or less, with a bag of dried fruit. It wasn't really what I wanted. Around this point I came to grips with the fact that a) non-candy things were not going to soothe this craving, b) we had no candy in the house and I had no cash to get any from the corner store, and so c) I was just going to have to deal with the fact that there would be no candy for me tonight.
I did, however, pout. And listen to my Inner Cartman plot endlessly about what we could get in the morning, at work. Inner Cartman had concluded that clearly, our adventures with Doritos and Chex Mix had not done what needed to be done, and that in order to get past this binging thing, one last binge must be done: the candy binge, chocolate only (or possibly Reese's mini-cups, because I am apparently a whore for those things). Clearly, this sacrifice must be made so that things can get back to normal. Oh, and I should definitely pitch the Coup Chopsticks, because they're dumb and clearly they didn't work. Maybe I should even take tomorrow off from work and sit home and wallow. (And eat.) This week was trashed anyway, because of Monday and now Wednesday, and we weigh in on Friday; might as well give up, accept the gain, use the time until then to pig out properly and then start over Friday morning.
Well, good grief.
Of all the things that mark the change between Meg v.2 and Meg v.1, I think the biggest is that I don't give up quite so easily. I don't automatically assume that I was stupid, that I'm incapable, that I'm lazy, that the project is impossible, that the plan is unworkable, that the obstacle is too great to get around. Okay, granted, I usually have a nice wallow in which I briefly contemplate all those things, but after a few hours my brain starts ticking away, hashing out what went wrong and what might be done to avoid it. Thereafter is born the new plan or the changes to the old one, or both.
It's a lucky thing I'm not overly shackled by dignity, because many of these plans require that I do things out of the norm that might get me looked at funny if someone caught me in the act or if I told someone about them. And some of them are complete wackjob ideas that do not work as well in practice as they did in my head, and must be disposed of and never spoken of again... but then, a lot of them turn out to be pretty damn good, if I do say so myself. Some of them even work for other people instead of being applicable only to a Meg of my sort. The greatest thing is that I have a lot of fun scheming these things up and experimenting and playing around. I'm so glad that it turns out that my dad's madcap "hey, let's see what happens if we do THIS" brain was an inheriable trait; up until a few years ago, I didn't think I had that. Apparently I do.
The point being that although I fell down, I got back up, and was madly scheming away to myself by the time I went to bed. Scheming does a good job of drowning out the Inner Cartman.
The tweak to the old plan: not only do the Coup Chopsticks live to see another day, but I intend to keep them on me at all times. I am currently practicing different methods of this, since the small amount of dignity I do have prevents me from clipping them to my belt along with my pedometer. Currently they are is down the front of my shirt, right along my sternum, my bra holding 'em in place. Not the most comfortable thing in the world, but I'm giving it a shot for the moment since I like being aware of it, using it as a sort of talisman. Besides, it's also reminding me to keep my posture straight instead of slouching.
The additional new plan: clearly, depriving myself completely of candy isn't working. The answer to that cannot possibly be the giant bag of chocolate miniatures that the Inner Cartman has been ranting about. That said, it's really difficult for me to keep candy around without eventually committing a heinous act of bingery. Clearly, what I need is some kind of Advent calendar system-- you know, the type where you open one little door every day and there's candy behind it? I have a brilliant idea for how to construct one-- a re-useable one at that-- using a shallow cardboard box, cardboard tubes cut into rounds to serve as a sectioning device, and paper over the top so that I can cut open one (marked) section every day (and nicely labeling each day so that if I went for more than one, I'd have to do so knowing that the Hub would notice). I'm itching to work on it. Damn this workday thing!
In other news, the Fun Run last night was very nice, although nowhere as thrilling and theraputic as the first one (really, how could it be?). This time I went a good pace instead of super-slow, chugging along with the actual runners. It's nice to know I can handle it, but on the other hand... waaaaah, it wasn't as insanely easy as last time!
The Voice of the Fat Chick was heard in the valley (or rather, my brain) this morning, I'm afraid. She whined, and whined, and whined, and whined. The weights were too heavy (7.5 lbs seriously worked my poor biceps; DAMN but I feel like a wimp), the treadmill was too much to face after running just last night, the intervals were too faaaast, it was too hard for her poor huffy-puffy self to handle, noooooo! I was ready this time, and was talking back, but it was a roller-coaster ride of a run all the same. I'd give up on a certain speed, and dial it back, and the Fat Chick would whisper that oh, that's it, time to give up for good, we'll just go slow the rest of the time. At which point I'd say "Fuck off, I am NOT YOU," and push the speed up again. I was so mad at myself by the end that I pushed the speed up to 8 mph (aieeee!) for a full minute.
I kinda felt better after that.
Anyway, now it's lunchtime. We're going out. I've packed a piece of fruit and a water bottle, because I don't trust my Hub's choice in restaurants (and also, I'm cheap). And I have my Coup Chopsticks tucked down my front. This should be fun.
posted by Meg at
1:04 PM
7 Comments:
You're great, I love your blog! 2 possible ideas for the candy thing: 1) celery. I know you just made a face, but gnawing through a bitter aromatic crunchy mouthful somehow turns off the sweet cravings for me 2) sugar free candy, you cannot (CANNOT) eat more than like 2 pieces without unhappy 'consequences'
By
Anonymous, at 2:55 PM
Have tried both. No good; as it turns out, the old adage is right in my case-- the only way to truly kill the craving is to eat a small bit of what you're after. Sorry!
The main problem is my general inability to stop. I manage to handle other things well, but since I'm not exposed to chocolate candy (and chocolate anything, really) much anymore, I go mad in its presence. I think the real trick will be to desensitize myself. If I could have some kind of magic vending machine in my apartment that would dispense one piece every day, and no more, then I would... as it is, I'm hoping that the "advent calendar" approach will prove a worthy alternative.
Glad to see you around, Anonymous! :-)
By
Meg, at 3:00 PM
COLLAPSIBLE CHOPSTICKS?????
Oh my God. I'm going to Google that right this very moment.
By
Meg, at 4:28 PM
oh good lord you crack me up! it's kind of fun cranking it up to 8mph, eh? it sometimes surprises me that I'm moving that fast, and I think it's good to prove to your body that yes, it actually CAN move that fast, like a bunny.
By
Anonymous, at 9:53 PM
If your candy calendar works let me know, because i could certainly do with a way of killing my sweet cravings... sometimes and only sometimes a low fat hot chocolate will work...
i would LOVE your advice on the morning exercise thing, because today i couldn't drag myself out of bed and i'm very disappointed with myself :(
By
Virginia, at 10:52 PM
I just wanted to say thank you again for all your support. You are incredible. :)
By
theaddict, at 5:32 AM
arrgh this is a toughie. i used to say that all you have to do is go cold turkey for a few weeks and you lose the taste for it, but today i was watching the vending machine man restock the machine, and now it's all i can think about. arrrrrrrgh.
you are hilarious with those chopsticks :) love it, love it!
By
Anonymous, at 9:49 AM
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