Archive for the ‘Whine with Everything’ Category

I’m catching up on the last season of “Breaking Bad” right now, and I’m almost there. I have two more episodes to go until I finish Season 4. It has gotten REALLY good in the past couple of episodes. So good that instead of just watching episode tonight, I watched two. I WANTED to watch more episodes. But I couldn’t. It was 10pm, early still, by 45-minute-with-DVR episode standards. I could knock out two more by midnight. Except.

Except I have to be awake at 5:15am tomorrow morning. And not just conscious and dragging. I have to get up, get dressed, make myself breakfast and get out the door so I can get to the gym by 6:20, so I can do 40 minutes of cardio before my hour long training session. That hour of training will completely kick my ass. Even on my best mornings – well rested, feeling good – it destroys me. The few times I have shown up tired, it has destroyed the rest of my day as well. Because then I have to go to work, and I have to be at work for nine hours. Which is normal. But it’s also very hard if you’re exhausted. Work is currently a pot on boil, as well; tomorrow could be the day it boils over. It might not be – it might be Thursday or Friday instead, but still, it’s not going to be a good time for me to be barely capable of sitting up right and conscious at my desk. And then after work, I still have things to do. Tomorrow, I have an appointment at 8pm in Pasadena, so I’ll be home late. That means I probably won’t finish “Breaking Bad” tomorrow night either.

I got nostalgic for my old job as I was forcing myself to get up and turn off the TV. When I started work at noon, I could stay up half the night watching TV and just sleep until 10:30 or 11:00. I could sleep that late because my old job was part of my old lifestyle, a lifestyle in which I might tell myself I’d exercise, but would rarely actually do it. I’d be much more likely to stop on the way to work for coffee and convince myself that it was okay to get a scone because I had to eat something, right? And in my old life, I wasn’t prepared with food either. I would have gone on to do a long day of work that would be by turns boring, frantic, taxing, engrossing, and infuriating, and I’d eat a lot to get through it – dumplings or cookies or boba drinks that my coworkers and I ordered and shared. It was fun in the moments we were eating that food, but of course, the moments didn’t last long.

Anyway, my fiance had to remind me that at my old job, I felt uncomfortable in my clothes and in my body. He pointed out that I didn’t get to enjoy fitting into smaller clothes, that I didn’t have as much energy, that I didn’t feel as confident. Because I wasn’t as confident. I was depressed and frustrated, sick of myself and unsure of how to change patterns that I knew were destructive, that caused me so much psychic pain.

And now I’m free of all of that. I feel good knowing that I eat nourishing food. It’s freeing not to constantly be fighting with myself over a muffin. My body, besides being leaner, is so much stronger. I can do planks and push-ups, I can hike for a long time and up steep hills and keep up (or be faster) than my companions. I’m proud of myself. I am more confident because I know – because I’ve proven to myself – how capable I am of working hard for something that is meaningful to me. I have a greater sense of purpose, and I am more my true self.

But it’s still hard some days. There’s a reason I did the easy thing for so long; it’s allure is strong. But much like the sweets that went so handily with my pursuit of ease, it was an empty satisfaction in the long run. What felt good in the moment, didn’t feel good for long, and it didn’t nourish me.

So last night, I whined and complained and then turned off the TV. I put away the vegetable and turkey stew I had made and I came upstairs to get ready for my day tomorrow. “Breaking Bad” will still be here on Thursday, and I have a lot of other things that are important in my life now as well.


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My weight hasn’t changed in six weeks. It’s REALLY annoying.

I know plateaus exist, but I hit one 10 pounds ago, so really, I thought I had awhile to go before I hit another one.
Also, all I can think about it is: really? I mean, REALLY?

I exercise 6-7 days a week every week. All exercise is at least 30 minutes of intensive cardio, and two of those days are always an hour and a half of intensive personal training with lots of cardio and cardio intervals. Also, my diet mostly consists of dead birds (lean protein), vegetables, fruit, whole grains, legumes, and vegan meat substitutes. I eat no refined sugars, fried foods, cheese, butter, red meat, pork, and have only minimal processed carbs (I have a real weakness for bites of bread). I almost never drink alcohol.

So you know… put that in your pipe and imagine how you’d feel if you did all of that, all the time, consistently, and you still stayed the same damn weight. And imagine that life in comparison to one where you exercised maaaaybe once a week, had anywhere from 3 to 6 desserts in a given day, and also ate just whatever the fuck else got in your path.

I mean, I feel like I should lose weight just for not having the destructive-dessert-buffet daily-living plan anymore. There were days (most days), when I’d start my day with a waffle or sugar cereal, have some M&Ms from the evil jar of treats at work, eat something high in cheese and fat for lunch, wash it down with a cookie or fro-yo, have more M&Ms (at least two more handfuls) in the afternoon, maybe also eat some jellybeans, then go home and convince my boyfriend to go get a giant bowl of fro-yo. That was a day! A normal day!

I’m a fucking saint now.

Except. I still sometimes eat carbs at night. Because it’s just easier to not pick out the brown rice or to have that bite of bread because it’s so yummy. And I guess, really, the freeze-dried fruit is kind of like a carb at night. It’s certainly a fruit at night. (My trainer told me not to eat fruit at night anymore, and in my mind, I was all like, oh please. If I could see that froyo I used to eat, you’d know this is nothing.) But maybe it’s not nothing?

Maybe my body really really needs perfect harmony? Like, it could handle some night carbs and bites of bread for the first minus-44 pounds but now it’s like, “Oh thanks, I can use that as something to hang on to.” Maybe I’m just that “lucky”? It’s hard for me to move much passed being pissed if that’s the case. Because come on. Just… come one. I’m exercising. I’m healthy. I would just like a little bit – just a little bit of leeway.

I don’t even remember the taste of frosting!!! I’m so good now. And I do know that my body is changing, that it’s stronger. I can feel that. And it looks different. I can see that. I just need the numbers to work with me now.

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I feel overwhelmed. To the point of wanting to kick something repeatedly, stab at something, maybe throw some things, and yell.

I don’t know how to do it all. And I also feel like I don’t do nearly enough as it is. I feel the tasks and appointments and people and duties of my life rushing up and over me like a great wave of heavy boxes and assorted junk, moving fast as the ocean. I want to hide. I want to peal my skin off.

I am changing everything. I just stopped myself from typing “having to.” Because it’s my choice. I want to; it’s not like there’s another, better alternative. I’m not even sure I know who I was or what before was like anymore anyway. What am I changing from? That shore is already lost in fog, shown to me only in glimpses, and already too far away to go back to. Not that I want to or should. I just don’t know how to move forward either.

Practically speaking, I have to work out every day. And it’s hard. And it keeps getting harder because as soon as I master something, my trainer ups the ante. She did it this morning, throwing our session into a gear enough higher than what I was prepared for that I almost burst into tears. But I also almost cried because I already feel like I can’t keep up, with just about everything. But I had managed, finally, to do what I was supposed to – get to the gym early enough (6:15am) for a 40 minute cardio workout before our session. And of course, I was already tired by the end of that, but then she threw so much at me that I felt punished. Although, of course, that’s not what it was. It’s just that I’m stronger now, so I have to work harder.

So I did, and I was feeling better, like I had made it through because, by the end of the session, I had. And it had been hard, but I had done it. And then she told me again that she wants me to cut all carbs out of my evening meals. I had to tell her that we were starting to push past the point of what I could handle, that food is a difficult issue for me, that the changes I had made were already so great that I was pretty much already at my capacity. She just nodded at me in her calm way and told me it’s not about handling things, it’s just about eating fewer carbs and that I can just do that and make that change and then it will be different.

I felt like I was being strangled. Because I’m just barely holding on to the life I know. It’s already so much harder to socialize with people. I’m now *that* person who can’t go to half the restaurants and who doesn’t want to go out for ice cream or drinks or lattes because I can’t HAVE any of it. It was a challenge all this past weekend when my mom was visiting to go to restaurants that would be fun for my mom and still be places where I could eat. It was hard to figure out what thing on the menu didn’t have red meat, butter, cheese, fried-anything, sugar, or processed carbs attached. And I didn’t always succeed, but I really tried. I had iced tea when my mom and boyfriend had wine. I tried not to scowl when my boyfriend got dessert with his meal. I had to excuse myself and go to the bathroom because it’s actually hard for me to watch someone eat something that I really really really really want (despite knowing that I don’t really want it – or want the long-term effects of having it).

It was a challenge to be okay with not having the chocolate croissant with breakfast and the other things that just feel nice, and like, yes, this is how we live and why life is good. And tell myself that it was okay, and I was fine with my new, different way. I have to be really present to make that true. And a lot of times that level of effort and presence – along with all the working out – doesn’t leave a lot leftover in terms of energy. It was a struggle for me to be awake and excited and as positive and happy as I wanted to be while my mom was visiting. Half the time, I wanted to take a nap, or just read quietly.

Because I can’t have the things I know to be parts of my life, that I associate with good times and communion with the people I love. And it makes me less fun. It makes me irritable because I’m confused, making my slow way through new territory that I cannot see far into. I just have to keep following this little trail, despite only seeing what is directly in front of me (vegetables) and trust that it leads to something better than the hot but familiar valley where I lived before.

So it was already that much effort to hold on. Plus, not being able to drink and thus losing a lot of the ways I socialize with my peers. Plus all the exercise, which takes time and makes me tired. Plus, the lessened interest in things that used to greatly interest me (travel to see friends, outings to cool things like Octoberfests or food truck rallies or Pie Town USA’s fall weekend). All of these new pieces to manage, these challenges, day in and day out, and most days it’s good and I want the challenge. But other days it’s hard. And for the past week or so it’s been particularly hard. I feel a person apart from so many of the people I love. I feel like my time is fully committed and leaves me without the space for other things I want to do. I feel too tired to engage. So to get my ass kicked this morning was more than I was ready for. But I did it. And that was good.

But then to be told that I had to modify my diet, to make it even more spartan and extreme. I just don’t know how to hold that. It’s not that I can’t do it, but that I am angry that I am being asked to. Because I feel like it means walking away completely from what I know. How can I go out with friends? How can I share meals with my boyfriend who still eats normally? How can I travel? If I can’t even have some goddamn brown rice with dinner! It seems unreasonable. It’s enough already not to get wine or dessert or any cheese, or half of anything else. I feel like I’m going to have to sequester myself in a kitchen of carefully researched and prepared, time-consuming meals (which in a way I would love to do – I would love to spend time cooking from scratch, really getting into ingredients and spices and flavors – but with what time?). Or just eat salads.

I don’t want to lose my love of food. That wasn’t my goal or the point. The idea was to redefine how I love it. But when it’s so strict, it feels like it is all taken away from me – not just the food, but the people I shared it with, the life I have. I feel like the only place this can leave me is alone. And I feel just as lost as I have ever been.

Oh and also, still fat. Not *as* fat, but the rolls are still there. This has to be something for my whole life, something I am happy to live with. Right now, all I feel is the struggle.

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I want a cookie. A delicious, chewy chocolate chip cookie. But I can’t HAVE a cookie because the cookie is bad for me. It’s full of sugar and butter and even a pinch of salt (for flavor balance) …and why is it that all the best tasting things have to be the worst for me? I’m fucking angry at the cookie pushers. The Starbucks and bakeries and Mrs. Field’s of the world  who are like, “Oh look! Look what we have here! It’s a delicious special treat! Just for YOU! It’s going to be so good and taste so nice and make you feel so happy. This cookie looooooves you.

Because isn’t that what a fucking cookie stands for? Love and happiness and joy?

Seriously, everyone told me they loved me with cookies. And it was a BAD idea.

My grandma baked them just like something out of a Good Housekeeping ad. “I’m so happy you came to visit. I made you cookies. Because I love you.”

Don’t get fat though.

I mean, eat the cookie. It’s a symbol of my love, and I’ll be sad if you don’t. I want to give you this nice thing. Just like your mom does and your friends do and the guy whose birthday it is at the office and literally every damn person in the world at Christmas. We just want to share and make you happy. Just want to give a little perk to your day. So enjoy! But don’t let it go to your hips or your butt.

Oh it did?

Gosh, well… probably no more cookies… I mean, love… I mean cookies for you then.

Because that’s what it feels like. Like the love is being taken away. And that’s not nice. But um, also… NEITHER WAS THE COOKIE!

That shit’s bad for you.

Like just not… healthy.

So 1. Why don’t we show love with healthy things like, I don’t know… an apple?
And 2. Why isn’t that apple as delicious or awesome as a cookie?


Who DID that?

And why is it being mass-marketed? Why is the tasty, bad thing the size of your face? Why can you buy a bag of 50 of them for only 4 bucks? Why do they taste so good with milk? Why do they get put on top of OTHER desserts like ice cream and cupcakes? Isn’t one dessert enough? ISN’T IT ENOUGH?!!

It is never enough.
I can eat more and more delicious rounds of sugar and butter and yum. I can eat it all day and all night; I can eat it in my car or on a flight. But it doesn’t matter how I Dr. Seuss it up. It will never be enough. And it will never make me full.

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For reals. It’s Friday. I could use a drink. After work, of course. Although at my desk would be kind of fun.

And yes, I know needing a drink is bad. And no, I don’t actually need one. And yes, I feel better when I’m not all alcohol-muted and hazy. And no, getting drunk does not usually lead to me binging on carrots and filtered water.

In fact, I used to do such delightful things when drunk as:

-bake cookies at 2:00 a.m. and then eat them even after realizing I left out the baking soda

-go through the McDonald’s drive-thru years even after reading “Fast Food Nation”

-put frozen fries in the oven and then promptly pass out, waking up the next morning to a lovely new charred stick collection and a thankfully still-standing apartment

So I get it. I do. It’s just that I’m meeting a friend for drinks after work and there’s going to be a porch and a view. And seltzer water isn’t as sexy or as fun as a drink.

And no I don’t want to talk about the benefits of redefining sexy and fun for my personal well-being. I just want to pout.

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For the second time in a week, I got an all-office email about how there is cake in the kitchen for someone’s birthday.

And to that, I say, fuck you, cake.

Because I love cake. And two months ago, I would have waited one minute (so as not to seem obvious in my obsessive devotion) and then bolted for the kitchen and my piece of cake. And after eating it, I would have pondered the reasonableness of getting a second piece (in terms of how people would judge me, natch – reasonableness in and of itself was not of interest to me).

But cake doesn’t love me like I love it, so we are on an extended hiatus from each other. And it’s hard. Every day I have to make the decision not to. Not to eat cake. Not to eat candy. Not to eat a stack of sugar cubes.

This morning, while I was getting my coffee, the goddamn evil bowl of M&Ms in the kitchen was calling to me more fervently than it usually does, and I had to just keep repeating to myself, “There is nothing for you there; there is nothing for you there.”

Because it’s true. Yes, chocolate is delicious, and yes, treats are okay from time to time. But “all the time” is not the same as “from time to time,” and I need to retrain some things before I can make that distinction. And for now, it won’t do me any good.

Plus, it’s pretty gross to ALWAYS have highly processed candy out at work. I mean, who, actually needs that? I want to tape a sign to the bowl that says:






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