It’s not like I didn’t see this coming. I did. What goes up must come down. After several weeks of doing well with my diet and exercise, I just said, “Fuck it. Let’s see if I can undo a month of good behavior in a couple of days.” I can. Judging by the way my swimsuit fit yesterday, I far surpassed that goal, overachiever that I am. I didn’t fall off the wagon. I jumped and I landed in a big ole pile of food and lethargy. Now here we are again; day one, take 285.
It started off innocently enough. Well, innocent might be the wrong word but it started out understandably. It was Labor Day. I’d done pretty well over the weekend. I went to the gym Friday and Sunday. I found out that the outdoor pool I never use is heated and just a little piece of heaven right here on earth. Naturally. Because around here outdoor pools generally close right after Labor Day. So I found it just in time to miss it. They haven’t closed it yet though so hopefully the thought of floating in a gianoirmous bathtub and staring up at the stars will motivate me to go to the gym and workout. That is not what this story is about, though. It’s about my failure. So let’s get back to that.
So Labor Day comes and I decide that, as a laborer, I deserved to make it a day filled with me doing nothing. A little mid- morning drinking sealed the deal. I would not be going to the gym. Maybe I’ll get drunk and dance. I reasoned.
I know I burn more calories in a drunken dancing session than anytime I’m legit working out. I’m like Kevin Bacon in that abandoned building that I don’t think was ever really explained. I’m Britney in concert. I’m lip syncing for my life.
My dance routine to Proud Mary alone has got to burn more calories than the elliptical. I am out of breath for hours. But before anyone suggests I take a Zumba class or a hip-hop cardio class, no, thank you. I can’t dance like no one is watching. I’m hyper vigilant. Also I can’t really dance. If someone tries to teach me a dance move I overthink it until I can’t remember if it’s right or left, up or down. When I say I’m dancing I really mean I’m thrashing about without rhythm.
I’ve been a private dancer all my life. For a brief period when I was a teenager, I “danced” in front of other people. I have the video tape to prove it, to prove that I can’t dance. I will make sure it’s destroyed before I die. What am I saying? No one will have a vcr.
However, it wasn’t that kind of drunk, the dancing kind. It was the kind where I clean the kitchen and then I go try and figure out how to put makeup on and then I lay in bed and watch Twin Peaks, even though that’s not technically writing.
I don’t think that was bad. That was a good day. Well deserved.
Then Tuesday came. The first thing I did was convince myself that I had to have a bacon, egg, and cheese croissant from Burger King. I needed it. I did drink all day the day before. I needed to keep my energy up. I also didn’t go to the gym after work Tuesday because I didn’t feel like it that day either but still, I had a salad for lunch, I had a pretty good dinner. I didn’t snack. It wasn’t that bad of a day.
Now, here’s where things start getting out of control and it was not always my fault. On Wednesday, I had to eat two dinners. thought about explaining why to you guys but:
- It’s boring
- It’s a long story
- It had nothing to do with what we are talking about
- I don’t really feel like getting into it
- I heard lists are a good device for keeping people’s attention.
So anyway, long story short. I had to eat two dinners. One, the first one, was a buffet. I don’t know what else to say about that. Besides the fact that eating two dinners takes up a lot of time and so I, once again, didn’t make it to the gym.
Thursday, despite the fact that I had eaten two dinners the night before and I was still carrying them around somewhere in my intestines, I really, truly believed that I should go get a Philly cheesesteak for lunch, Not the petite “value” size that I usually get. No, no, I got the big boy, I get it in a wheat wrap, that makes it healthy, right? I usually get a salad without dressing whenever I order a cheesesteak to balance out the pound of greasy meat a little. This time, the lady didn’t hear me ask for the salad so she asked, “Fries alright?” and I took that as a sign that I was supposed to eat greasy fries instead of salad and it was also a sign when she asked me if I would like a coke.
I think that was the turning point. That was the moment when I just said, “Fuck it. I’ve been good. I’ve worked hard. Let’s completely undo that by just jamming food into my mouth as fast and as often as I can. We went and saw IT on Thursday night because we couldn’t wait a second longer, so you know what that means? No gym again.
Friday my husband had to be put under for a procedure first thing in the morning and afterward we went out and had a huge breakfast before I went back to work. Even though I hadn’t gone to the gym in five days at this point, I thought it would be better for me stay in and relax with my husband, we ordered pizza. I drink some more rum, this time with coke. I’m a maniac.
I dont know if you know this but drinking is way bad for weight loss for reasons beyond the calories that the drink itself contain. Let’s list them!
- Alcohol gets metabolized first which means the foods you eat aren’t digested as well or as quickly as they would be normally.
- Drinking keeps you away from the gym because you can’t drive.
- Alcohol makes work outs less effective for some way I can’t remember.
- When you are drunk you are more likely to make poor food choices.
- The day after drinking you usually don’t have as much energy as you normally do. You probably won’t go to the gym then either, especially if you are me.
- Chances are you will eat more food to perk up a bit and, of course, you still won’t be able to process the food as well as you usually would.
- Probably lots of other things that I don’t know about.
So that was Friday. I don’t always drink but when I do, by God, I do. Saturday I slept in. I woke up feeling fine but I didn’t let that stop me from going to McDonalds for lunch. I never go to McDonalds but I heard or read a few different times that greasy food is good for recovering from drinking and that’s a good enough reason for me. Then I left the house to go to the gym but I also needed to go shopping first because I was on a misson to find brown shoe polish and while I was out I may as well window shop for three hours. I’m lying. I bought shit.
After that I was on my way to the gym but you will never guess what, I was hungry. It was pretty late at this point. My husband would be making dinner for us that night but I had to get something to eat before I worked out, right?
This is not unusal for me. I will occasionally grab a snack on the way to the gym but it’s usually just that, a snack. Then I remembered that I was out-of-control-bat-shit-crazy and so, do you know what I did? I ordered Lobster Ravioli carry out from my favorite place, right by my gym. It came with soup and bread and it’s own olive oil packet. I got another Coke too, to wash it down, cause why the fuck not?
Then I sat in my car and watched Hulu or Netflix or YouTube on my phone while I ate an entire Italian dinner in the parking lot of my gym. I didn’t eat the bread. So at least I did that. Its my favorite meal so I was really trying to savor it and it took a long time to eat. By the time I finished and actually went into the gym, I was ready to go home. Still, I gave it my best effort for a good hour and then I went home and ate dinner.
So that’ll do, pig. That’ll do.
It is around 9:00 a.m. Sunday morning at the time that i writing this sentence. It probably wont be 9:00 a.m. Sunday when I go back and edit it. It definitely won’t be by the time I post this. So there is a good chance that by the time you read this, I will have already failed.
As of this moment I am getting back on track. No liquor. No Coke. Those are obvious. I think that I should probably stop eating two dinners. I should probably start packing my lunch. I should probably actually go to the gym and workout instead of eat entire meals in the parking lot. The gym does at least seem to keep me maintained, even if I can’t lose weight for some reason. I kind of have muscles, underneath all the fat. I just can’t stop eating. I love food. Food is good. Food is evil.