Sorry for the scarcity of the posting lately! I’m so swamped! Between working two jobs (one of them in retail), holiday commitments and trying to get some exercise in (note the operative word: trying), I’m not finding much time to blog.
I promise that I will never miss a Tuesday check-in though. That is sacred.
I’m down 2.6 lbs this week, taking me tantalizingly close to my end of year goal. I need to lose a further 3.3 lbs to get under 200 lbs and I have three weeks to do it in. These are the REALLY difficult three weeks to get through, but I’m going to do my best. I’m headed to the gym on Thursday morning (I promised myself I wouldn’t attempt to get up at 5 am the day after I worked at the bookstore till 9 pm – there just isn’t time for any kind of life otherwise) and then I go away this weekend to Hawkesbury for a drivers lunch and meeting. I’m spending the night in our nation’s capitol (Ottawa, ON) and plan to hit the gym on Sunday before I fly home.
I wanted to respond to a comment that was left on my last post. The Forthright Fattie said that she was halfway jealous of my revelation that life isn’t about food and that there’s a big difference between loving food properly and loving food improperly. I couldn’t agree with her more on that one.
My problem, I think, is different. I don’t think I love food. At all. My best friend loves food. She loves to try new foods, she loves to eat food prepared differently by different people. She loves the textures, the smells and memories that can be evoked by food.
I’m not like that. I don’t love food, I love to eat. There’s a huge difference. Loving to eat is much more deadly in my opinion. I don’t crave foods very often, but I have to fight not to stuff myself far more frequently than I would like. I think in the past I’ve really felt like if I ate enough, I could feel SOMETHING. I think I was wandering around so afraid to live life that I numbed myself out. Eating till I was uncomfortable was a way to feel. Even if it was a negative feeling.
I’m still working on getting past this, because I have my moments where I give in to it. I went to a handbag party (like Tupperware, but for designer knockoffs) on Friday at a friend’s house and ate far too much. I knew I was doing it, but I did it anyway. It felt good to feel unbearably full. I’m just glad that I mostly (mostly being the operative word) gorged on vegetables, but still, it’s pretty screwed up to want to eat till it hurts.
I wish I could solve the mystery as to why I do this. I wish I could go back in time and try and stop this problem before it developed. I can’t do either of those things though. All I can do is try and correct the behavior enough times until it becomes a habit.