So, I'm not going to lie. Last week was a little rough as far as the whole 'eating healthy' thing goes, anyway.
I'd been doing pretty well-- I have my cheat days, of course, as those are still imperative, at least right now. But, mostly it was one day a week (Saturday), or sometimes two (Saturday and Sunday). I was even going to the gym-- in a 7 day period, I went 5 times, and went on a 3 mile hike on an additional day. That had me being active 6 out of 7 days of the week.
I'd even been running on the treadmill at a 6.2 speed, which I hadn't done in forever-- if ever, actually. I ran a mile in 10 minutes and 6 seconds, which granted, isn't that fabulous, but I hadn't done that since college.
Anyway, things were going well! Until I twisted my ankle, and it was difficult to walk without pain, let alone run. So, last week was unfortunately gym free.
Still, I was cooking!
However, things took a turn for the worse when I walked into work on Monday morning and discovered, to my horror, that a co-worker who sometimes keeps candy on his desk had placed on the corner of his desk a shiny full five and a half pound tub of Red Vines.
Let me tell you a little something about me: I love Red Vines. So, from the get go, I knew I was going to get my little paws on at least some of those delicious licorice treats.
At first, all was well-- I started out with 4 pieces, as single serving according to the Tub O' Plenty. But, as the night progressed, things got much, much worse. It was as though I was trapped on a desert island, and licorice was my way out.
I ate those little pieces. I would always set out to be good-- to just grab one or two, but then I would go back after I shoved the previous licorice pieces in my mouth and chomped like a madwoman.
It was anarchy! On Monday, I topped out at about 12 pieces of licorice, 3 times my original goal of 'one serving.'
And, for fear of having to buy my coworker a new tub o' licorice, I will refrain from telling you how many pieces, in all, I consumed. But, the rest of the week didn't see me eating much less licorice, until Thursday/Friday, when I was apparently licoriced out, and only had 2 pieces.
This weekend brought fast food by the fistful into my body, and though it wasn't intentional, I'm doing my best to not beat myself up about this-- or the licorice.
When it comes to two things, I really struggle with self-control. The first is shopping-- which is a different story for a different day. And the second is, of course, eating. I have been doing much better lately-- as a result of cooking more and eating out way, way less, I have nearly eliminated my previous intense cravings for junk food.
But, the fact remains: junk food is delicious, and if I make the decision to begin eating it, I have a difficult time stopping. The licorice could just have easily been McDonald's fries, or something else that I really enjoy that isn't all that healthy for you.
These are things about myself which I am trying to reconcile--and, truthfully, I may never be able to do it. All I can do is try. I've grown leaps and bounds with the whole food thing. In fact, I've eaten more healthy foods and vegetables in the past two months than I have in my entire life. No, I'm not exaggerating.
As weird things are apt to do, the licorice thing got me thinking about all of this-- about how I have become much less of a slave to my cravings and poor eating habits. Sure, they sneak in every once in awhile. They likely always will. But, for the most part, I am doing my best to silence them--and with weeks like the last one, it is this that I have to remember.
I've written about this before, but I have a tendency to beat myself up a bit a lot. And when I have these failings, when I eat a significant portion of a 5.5 pound tub of licorice in one week and go on to eat Chinese food, pizza, and a burger & fries on the weekend of that same week, I have to be extra diligent to make sure that I don't allow that to derail me completely. It's not hyperbole to say that in the past, that is exactly what would have happened. I would have quit-- I would have said 'Obviously I can't do this,' and I would have gone back to my old ways.
But I didn't. I woke up today and I broiled Cilantro Lime Chicken Breasts and made a Black Bean Salad from a cookbook dedicated to heart health. And I'm currently sipping Starbucks Zen Green Tea as I write this.
So, yes, I may have lost the battle with the Giant Tub of Licorice from Hell. But, I've told myself that I'm not going to lose the war. It's an important lesson for me, and it's one that I have to continue learning--we are bigger and better than our own failings. It is something that I have believed of others most of the time. But, there's another aspect of it that is more difficult for me.
I am bigger and better than my own failings. I need to learn and believe that. I have confidence that I will-- and that I will win this war, that I will lower my blood pressure for the family I someday hope to have-- and for myself.
Sorry, 5.5 tub of Red Vines, but you're not going to get in the way of that.
New Page -- Cash's Corner, and more cooking shenanigans on the 'Food' tab for all those who're interested!
The month of February has been full of revelations for me, despite the fact that it has only just begun.
This week I went to my first Zumba class (this was, indeed, my first fitness class ever), and my first spin class. I'm going to talk about the latter, even though I enjoyed the former much more.
I tore myself out of bed on Wednesday, after falling asleep at approximately 6am, in order to make it to the class by noon. I signed in, headed to the locker room, and then went to the room where the class is held. I'd reserved my spot the night before, and I found it, good ol' bike 22--nestled in the back, of course. I fumbled around with the seat, trying to adjust it, and I eyed everyone in the class surreptitiously as he or she (mostly she) adjusted the bike. (is it actually even called a bike? I don't really even know).
After fiddling around with it, I still couldn't figure it out, and since the class wasn't even half full, considered switching bikes, but I couldn't figure the one next to mine out, either. Frustrated, I eyed the room, and immediately began to feel self-conscious, as I often do since I've gained a bit of weight. Everyone in there was pretty skinny, except for me. Nobody was looking at me, though, so that's good at least--for all they knew this was my hundredth spin class, not my first.
When the instructor arrived, he asked if anyone needed help adjusting their bike. Oh, hey, it is called a bike. Anyway, my arm shot up really fast--I figured I'd feel less embarrassed if I made a joke out of not knowing what in the actual hell I was doing. He came over, adjusted my bike, and told me some basics--like, don't lean on the handlebars, and some other stuff I can't remember now.
Then, suddenly, it was time for class to begin. He began talking about resistance, and where we should set our resistance, and again, I was looking around the room. This time, I saw everyone fiddling with some red knob beneath the handlebars, so I did the same, and found out how to increase/decrease the resistance. I don't know what I was at, what percentage--he threw out 20%, but I'm pretty sure i was at like 5%. Whatever.
Now, a bit about this spin class-- at my gym, they really try to pump you up in this spin class. The lights dim (save for the one on the instructor, unless he turns it off), and there's lots of flashing lights and it kind of seems like a party.
Let me just say that I have never been more glad to be in the relative dark as I was on Wednesday. Because after the instructor dimmed the lights, what followed was the worst 45 minutes of my life. Okay, that's definitely hyperbole. But, it was pretty bad. Unlike Zumba the day before, my eyes were glued to the clock situated directly to the right of the very enthusiastic instructor's head. The second hands ticked away, taunting me, as the instructor told us when to stand, when to sit, when to increase or decrease our resistance.
Sure, it was a party. A party in hell.
I spent much of the class gazing longingly at the girl running on the treadmill. I wanted to be running on the treadmill. Desperately.
These spin people were maniacs. There was a 60 year old woman in the front putting me to shame. I didn't even pedal for the whole 45 minutes. I kept stopping, and I definitely didn't do much with that resistance button, let me tell you.
I thought about getting up and walking out--it was dark, they wouldn't even know who I was! Fear of offending the instructor, however, kept me glued to my very uncomfortable seat. I did pedal some, and I did it for as long as I could, and it was definitely better than lying in bed, which is what I would have been doing otherwise.
I would steal glances around the class, and everyone (some of them even having little clips they use for this cycling occasion) were pedaling their little hearts out. And there I was, in the back, panting and stealing sips of water feeling sorry for myself.
And I was feeling sorry for myself. I even began to cry at one point. Why? I'm not sure-- maybe I was embarrassed, maybe I was overwhelmed, maybe I was mad at myself because there was a time when I probably would have been able to keep up, and I somehow let myself get so far away from that.
Finally, the minutes on the clock wound down, and the instructor was rallying us for one final push-- my spin mates were whooping, and seemed to be genuinely enjoying the experience. I decided to pedal for the last 5 or so minutes non stop, even though I had just spent the last 40 feeling sad and fighting tears--and eventually losing that battle and actually crying (did I mention how thankful I was that it was dark?).
It was during this rally (where all I was thinking--and had been thinking the whole class-- was "I can't") that the instructor said something that really hit me-- he said "Your mind is stronger than your body, I promise you."
Now, I don't know if that's true or not. I think sometimes our minds want us to do things that our bodies just can't--but it really got me thinking.
My whole life things have come easy to me--if they haven't, I stopped doing them. Anything that was difficult or required much practice, I wouldn't do. And I'm not sure why.
For instance, I like to say that I'm not good at math. But, that's not true. My standardized test scores from elementary through middle school prove it. The fact that my sixth grade math teacher said he thought I could go on to advanced math the next year proves it. But, I declined. I was too afraid of failing--too afraid of working hard, so I went on to regular 7th grade math. I got Cs in Math in high school and college without even trying. When I worked at it, I understood it--I was good at it, and I even sometimes liked it.
But, still, I say I'm not good at math. No. I'm not good at focusing on Math, because I'm used to things coming easily to me, and when they don't, I don't want to work at them. Apparently.
Yes, that comment by an energetic sprite of a spin instructor brought all of that on. And it brought on the notion that I want to change. I want to start accepting challenges instead of avoiding them--or, at least, try to start doing that, anyway. Habits are, they say, hard to break.
So, I'm going to put change into motion. "There'll be some chaaaanges, they're long overdue; there'll be some chaaaanges in my life." I'm not even sure what they are. But, I'm going to try to quit telling myself I can't do things. I'm going to try to realize that just because I have to actually work at understanding or accomplishing something doesn't mean I'm not smart enough or good enough or whatever-else enough.
I'm sure it won't be all that easy--changing my body won't be that easy, but hopefully I can take it one day at a time. I did pretty well this week. I ate relatively well (no fast food at all), I exercised, and I didn't berate myself for grabbing twinkies from the vending machine-- I accepted it, and moved on. And that's a step in the right direction. Whereas, before I would let the cheat spiral me completely out of control and use it as an excuse to eat whatever I want because obviously I couldn't do it, and I was dumb to even try.
I'm still going to In-N-Out today, but I'm also eating healthily all day, and possibly going to the gym.
As for the spin class? It definitely won't be a weekly thing for me, but I would like to have a long-term goal of being able to pedal for the whole 45 minutes, and eventually (who knows when) be able to do the class as it is intended. So, I'll get back in the highly uncomfortable saddle in a few weeks, to see where I'm at after exercising regularly--in the meantime, maybe I'll start a petition for more comfortable seats on those bikes. I mean, I know we're exercising, but is a little comfort too much to ask? A sore ass for days after a failure like that just adds insult to injury. Or... injury to insult, as it were.
This hasn't been my only February revelation; thanks, February, for the lesson. And, thanks, Self, for the patience.
