Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad

When I was a kid I vowed not to grow up to become the kind of adult who was always bitching and whining about the work week. I thought living for the weekend was lame and sad and translated into a lack of passion for life. So imagine my surprise when I grew up to discover that this was totally normal.

This week could not end quickly enough for me. Friday I have a huge project due for school, for which I still have to write 15 pages, and I have to have a publication done here at work by this Friday as well. Top that off with some uncharacteristically awful behavior by my boss about my vacation time and this has not been my week. The boss is saying that she can’t let me go on vacation now, because we’ve gotten too busy. This despite me having already asked for that week off two months ago, and put a down payment on a condo at the beach. Let’s all drink heavily, shall we?

Alcohol is about the only thing I haven’t consumed in the past two days, actually. Sunday night was my scheduled “cheat” night (I hate that term, but don’t have the energy to come up with another) so A. and I ordered a thin crust pizza of which I ate half. No big deal, right? Well, no. Then Monday her old student D. came to visit, and he brought with him a hubcap sized tray of Ukrop’s chicken salad on white house rolls, so since those were a *treat* I helped myself to oh ... six or seven or ten. Then yesterday the work situation blew up and I went home feeling hurt and enraged and overworked and insulted, and I promptly suggested dinner out to A. and D. and went on to bury myself in an enormous bowl of pasta topped off with cheesecake for dessert. And of course I knew even then it was emotional eating, and that I’d feel sorry for it this morning, and I also knew that it wasn’t the end of the world, and that obsessing about it wasn’t healthy either. So I enjoyed the hell out of dinner and tried to ignore the part of me who thinks “now you’ve done it.”

I hate the All or Nothing of weight loss, and what I hate more is how often I fall into that trap myself.

So this entry is the entry I hoped never to write. Realistically I knew (and know) that I will slip sometimes, and that this time it was a slip and not a fall, but it’s still hard for me. There is a fear that lurks not far below the surface – a fear that I will have a bad few days and will wake up 30 pounds heavier. This morning, though I fit into a jacket I haven’t worn in two years, I still thought I looked exactly like I did 32 pounds ago. That’s silly, and I know it’s just an illusion, but it was a sobering moment.

I think another reason I might be feeling bad is that I haven’t run since Saturday. My hip really took a beating on that 4 mile Wog, so folks suggested I give it time to heal completely before starting Week 5. It makes sense – get rid of the inflammation completely or you’ll continue to aggravate it – but not doing something athletic really has me feeling vulnerable. How weird! To quote my sister, “you’re like ... an athlete, or some shit.”

So tonight is my first night back on the program, and of course it would have to be the hottest and most humid day of the year. Heat index today is 105. I’ll probably have to walk at 3 a.m. to be able to bear it!