Wednesday, February 15, 2012

The hardest post I've ever written.

I got a message on Twitter, asking when I was going to update my blog. To be honest, I wasn't planning on updating it until after the Spartan race. Why? Because I'm ashamed of how far I've slipped. I can't get my eating under control at all. I start off well and by the end of the day, it's a free-for-all. For example, I ate the thickest peanut butter and Nutella sandwich I've ever made while writing part of this post. And surprisingly, I've been pretty good about not eating junk at work this week.

Let me back up a bit, to the Sweetheart 8K I ran on Saturday. I don't know what my time was - somewhere around the 70 minute mark, which is about what I ran back in November when I did my first 8K. As I was running, trying to keep pace with one of the walkers, it really hit home just how much I fucked up my shit. Never mind that I'd already gone out and bought bigger pants for work or that nothing I own fits me anymore. It was trying to run that god damn race - that was like Judgement Day. I remember back in April of last year, I was in my prime in the Bunny Hop, having the time of my life running a 5K non-stop for the first time. And month later, having my fastest 5K time yet. I was doing mother fucking Insanity, yo. It was kicking my ass, but I was doing it and in great shape. But the Sweetheart was a hard kick in the fat ass. I vowed somewhere around Mile 1 that I was done doing this to myself, that I was going to get my shit together and get my head on straight. At the halfway water station, my GO FAR "boss" was there. Her son (who is in my son's class) was handing out water and she was handing out Sweethearts (the candy). She is the one who got me into running and, while I don't love running by any stretch of the imagination, I felt like I was not only letting myself down, but letting her down as well. I'm supposed to be a role model for the GO FAR kids and in my current shape, I'm more like a roll model.

So anyway, it's always motivating to see her and she makes me want to be a better runner (for myself). I pushed harder but I still couldn't run very far. I will say this. I ran often. I never fucking gave up on the running. And as I got close to the finish line, my GO FAR "boss" and her family drove by and gave a cheer for me. So I ran again. I was not quitting, damn it. I was going to run across that damn finish line. And I did. As soon as I rounded the final turn, I mentally told that walker in front of me to eat my dust and I ran my ass off and I could not stop with everyone standing at the finish line watching me. I crossed the finish line, walked to my car and drove to McDonald's, where I ordered a Big Breakfast with Hotcakes and a large mocha frappe. I told myself I'd restart Weight Watchers the following day, that I was going to have one least bad meal and I was really getting it together.

Sunday came. I don't remember what I had for breakfast, but we went to Virginia and went to CiCi's Pizza for lunch. If you're not familiar with this franchise, it's a super cheap pizza buffet, with all different kinds of pizza. Mac & cheese pizza, Hawaiian pizza, Buffalo chicken pizza, cheeseburger pizza, spinach pizza, pepperoni pizza, apple pie pizza, Bavarian pizza, brownie get the picture. I always get a plate of salad when I go to a buffet, to make sure I get some vegetables but who the hell am I kidding with this bullshit. I didn't stuff myself but really, I didn't need any damn pizza. We came home and I was so tired, we got McDonald's for dinner.

Monday was actually pretty good. I think. For the most part. I know I had a salad for lunch and I didn't touch a single curly fry or chicken tender at work. I don't remember dinner at all. Oh, I had another salad. So Monday was good. Tuesday started off well, but then there was Valentine's Day party candy from my son's class. I ended up eating a lot of that, then half a pan of granola bars and some cheese. Oh, and more candy. Today, I didn't even eat anything until lunch time. I had whatever we were serving - a little Philly cheese steak and a little chicken fajita mix with a soft tortilla. Which was okay, but then I ate a big bowl of the cheese steak, which I did not fucking need. I wasn't hungry. It just tasted good. I thought I could salvage my day but that was not to be. I came home and ate all the rest of the candy I had in the freezer, some nasty chicken biscuit thing, and that giant sandwich I wrote about above.

And that sandwich...I made it after I started typing all of this out, after I cried in the shower for a good ten minutes. I was thinking about the Tweet I got, replaying the Sweetheart 8K in my head, feeling the indentation from my bra strap on my shoulder, seeing how big I've gotten in the last nine months. I just lost it and cried under the water. And once again, I told myself that I need to get my shit together. So what I do I do? I come out and make a heart attack sandwich and shove it in my pie hole while I'm lamenting about how out of control I am and that I'm done doing this to myself.

But I have to stop. I have to be a better role model for my son. He had an appointment with his allergist on Monday and he is 4'5" and 90 pounds. He said, "Mommy, I'm fat. I have to lose weight." And it broke my heart. He's not fat. He's husky. And I'm not just looking at him through Mommy Glasses. He's always been on the upper end of the weight chart. He is very thick, built like his father. But when he said that, I wanted to cry. I tried explaining to him that he's not fat, that we - as a family - need to start making healthier food choices and be more active. And we have been working out - as a family - for two weeks now. We lift weights together, even Sebastian. We bought him a small medicine ball and some equipment he can handle and he's been very good about listening to me on form for his squats and everything. He's been trying to keep up with our 100 day burpee challenge - today was 15 burpees.

And Sebastian is actually excited about the Spartan race. I am not. I don't know if this Facebook album is viewable to everyone, but here are pictures from a Junior Spartan event. Sebastian's is going to be a half-mile obstacle race. It looks like fun. Whereas this does not. I don't even know if that video is viewable. I am in no shape to be doing this, even though I know it will be fun and very good for me. I'm desperately trying to get our start time moved up so we have time to finish our run and be back in time to watch Sebastian do his. He's going to do great, and this is going to be great for him.

Oh, and in other good news, Sebastian has decided that he wants to do GO FAR again. I'm very happy about that.

But back to the Spartan discussion. I'm embarrassed to be going into this as overweight and out of shape as I am. And I have no idea how much weight I have gained - I refuse to get on the scale. I feel it in my clothes, I feel it in my lungs when I do cardio. I've fucked up. Big time. When I signed up for the race, I had only gained about 20 pounds, and I was sure I could get my act together in six months. But here I am, three weeks from race day, and I'm in the worse shape of my life. I don't think my weight is at its highest but if I don't turn this shit around, like yesterday, I am totally screwed. I will give up because I'm tired of the struggle. It's so much easier to just give in. I know how to eat healthy. I know all the tricks for dealing with binges. I have knowledge. Lots of it. What I lack is the ability to control my impulses.

Oh, but I was talking about the Spartan that's in 22 fucking days. Though I'm having terrible anxiety over it, I know it will be fine. And I need to set a bar for subsequent Spartans, because I will do another one, and I will get better. To be honest, I'm probably more nervous about meeting my cousins (who talked me into this Spartan nonsense). And part of it is jealousy. They have the freedom and the means to focus a lot on fitness and run races all the time. And again, I feel like I'm letting Scott down. He's been pushing me (in a good way) and I can't do it! I'm letting everyone down with my dumbassery.

So there you have it. There's probably much more I could say but I'm tired and my eyes burn from crying. I'll try to update again before the Spartan. I have some late days at work this week, and I have to spend Monday (which is a no school day for teacher work day) cleaning out the PTO closet. There's another source of stress (that I can't really talk about because it's a legal issue) that makes me want to just binge eat. I wish I could lose my appetite instead of stuff my face.

And now that I've finished a large bowl of peanut butter Cap'n Crunch, I'm going to bed. I don't even like the smell of peanut butter. It smells like cat piss. I don't know why I eat it.

@miscoconutty1, thank you for your messages. They meant a lot to me. I refuse to give up.

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