Last Monday: 417 lbs (Phase Two: Diet Week Three)
Today: 414lbs (Phase Two: The Last Day)
That’s what I told myself on this final week of Phase Two when I preemptively ate eggs (reserved for Phase Three), cheese (reserved for Phase Three), and cranberry juice (not in the diet plan at all). The theme of this week has been focused on facing some really harsh realities about myself and my behaviors. So, today I’m going to go through the week chronologically and discuss what has been happening.
Sunday: I’ve been pushing myself hard to start feeling normal again. Without food, a job, or the ability to adequately exercise I felt empty. The coping mechanisms in my life for stress have been gone for a couple of weeks. I am an avid swimmer these days. I joined a gym in January that had a pool because I don’t feel right without exercise. I used to think that I hated the thought of working out, but swimming does not feel like a workout.
My doctor told me, “No pool for two weeks.”
Sunday was two days shy of two weeks. I figured, “Close enough.”
I swam for 45 minutes and it felt great. I felt reinvigorated.
Monday: This was my medical scare day, and the day I started this blog. I went out with my brother to the bookstore to pick up some books. Afterwards, I went to my Grandma’s house. She hadn’t seen me since before the procedure. There I was sitting innocently in my chair. I turned towards her to speak, and I felt warm tearing sensation. I was convinced that I tore my staple line. I was more traumatized at the thoughts of having to go under the knife again than I was at the physical pain.
Horrified at what I had done, I hobbled down her stairs to go home and call my doctor. I spent an agonizing hour wondering whether or not I was going to be readmitted. I hated myself for swimming the previous day.
Tuesday & Wednesday: These two days, I spent in a slump. I did not leave my house. I moped around and did nothing. I wondered when I’d ever feel alright again. I grew angry. I lashed out at my loved ones. All the while, all I wanted to do was cry into a pizza. Not only did I grow concerned about my frame of mind, but I began to put together the honest to God’s truth about myself. I am a stress eater.
Thursday: Feeling better, I got out of bed. I filled my day’s activities with a trip to the mall. I behaved myself with a low calorie, soy protein smoothie. I cringed at my desire to have a soft pretzel. They were beckoning me with their wafting aromas.
However, that night at the request of a friend, I went out to eat. I’ve restricted myself from going post-op because it’s tormenting to be honest. This was my first violation. Eggs and cheese. My stomach said no, but frighteningly my brain said, “You’re so close to Tuesday. Go ahead.”
I justified it by saying that I could make worse choices, and that my transgression was okay because I was only cheating one phase ahead. I make excuses.
Friday: I nibbled on my egg leftovers. I did my first over the phone job interview.
Saturday: Ready to do physical activity again, I decided to accompany my friends to a local club to see a band. I was the designated driver, and this was the night of the cranberry juice violation. So, I’m following a strict no alcohol rule for 6 months. My per serving sugar limit is 10 grams. Cranberry juice has 25 to 35 grams of sugar on average per 8oz. glass. I probably had 12oz. total. Regardless, I was over my 10 gram limit. I bend the rules.
Sunday & Today: I went grocery shopping yesterday for my Phase Three items. Needless to say I’ve broken the rules again.
This is not a running theme that makes me feel proud. However, I do not feel entirely hopeless either. Before I had a structured program, before I had focus, I gave up when I made a transgression. I feel hopeful. I now spot signs of stress. I might make excuses for my transgressions, but I don’t use them as an escape. I bend rules, but I don’t consistently do so. For once in my life, weight loss is a long term goal and not a short term fix. I make mistakes, but I’m committed to getting my life back on track.