Coexisting Peacefully

I guess I was finally in the right headspace to bring The Calori Nazi back into my life, because so far it's going rather smoothly.

For whatever reason, every time I tried to get back on track with him over the last year it has literally been like I'm in some strange caloric grudge match. My general attitude towards the whole thing was "you can't tell me what to do."

Then I'd eat half a pizza and a pint of Ben & Jerry's. Or a tray of Christmas cookies. To spite him.

Being such an advanced piece of nutritional software, it totally hurt his feelings, right? Because then he'd be all "fine, take THAT!" And crank down even harder on my calorie allowance.

Brilliant plan for losing that last 80 or 90 pounds, no?

Anyhoo, my rebellious phase seems to have passed and the Nazi and I are, for the moment, on the same page.

I'm faithfully measuring and reporting my food, and my reward has been to lose 3 pounds in the week since I started. The Nazi seems happy with my progress and is still allowing me to eat reasonably enough that I don't want to hunt down his programmer with a machete.

Now I'm off to squeeze in a little elliptical time so the Nazi will let me have sour cream on my seafood enchiladas tonight.

Reluctantly Reporting for Duty

My weight went up. Two more pounds. Since, like, YESTERDAY.

That's 7 pounds up in about 3 weeks. And I've been moving more and eating (somewhat) less. Completely stopped eating anything remotely holiday cookie related, and even brought in some salads. I haven't had uncontrolled gains like this since the heyday of my pre-diagnosed thyroid days.

Clearly, drastic measures are in order to combat the Baby Bear is Weaning Weight. Because I've come too far to fail now.

This morning, I oh-so-reluctantly turned myself over to a higher power.

The Calorie Nazi is officially back in my life.

Once Again, My Breasts are Thorn in My Side

My weight has skyrocketed in recent weeks. As in, I currently weigh 11 pounds more today than I did this week a year ago.

Not so coincidentally, the Bear has almost completely weaned.

Not so much that I can get away without taking a breast pump the the Bahamas in two weeks. But more than enough that I'm no longer on semi-free caloric ride.

DAMN. It sure was nice burning all those calories without actually trying.

(But on the up side, I just finished my 3rd consecutive week of running on Tuesday. If things keep going this well, I might just make it through a race or two this year.)

A Little Me Time

This weekend, Wonderful Husband took Baby Bear for a dry run sleepover at our dear friends' place. Because the Bear has never spent a night without me, and we needed to see how it would go. Because in 2 weeks Bear is going to spend 3 days with these beloved friends, who lost their minds generously offered to keep him so we could go here for a weekend to honor our 10 year anniversary. (Which was in October, but had to be postponed due to husbands with angry gallbladders.)

I had NO IDEA what to do with myself. It's probably been 2 years since I had the house to myself for a weekend.

So what did I do?

I had a meal fit for a... triathlete. One who's thinking about getting ready for race season.



And had a bubble bath. And painted part of the bathroom. And tried to catch up on 6 years worth of backlogged photo albums. And had a long conversation with a buddy about what races to register for this season.

There were no Cosmos with the girls, or partying of any kind. Just an internal debate over whether or not I could fit in a workout AND paint the bathroom before my guys got home. (The answer, it turns out, was no.)

I know I've only been back on any sort of workout schedule for 2 weeks (and I seem to have gained as many pounds in that time), but I'm already feeling more like the me I was afraid I'd lost when the Bear came along.

It's a relief to know I didn't get lost. Just temporarily misplaced.

(In case anyone is curious... that's a baked parmesan crusted tilapia filet on a bed of brown rice, served with a lemony sour cream sauce, red cabbage braised with balsamic vinegar and edamame. YUM.)

Detritus of the Derailment

How bad is it that my breakfast this morning was a Luna Bar that expired in 2006?

(I got little sleep last night because Bears and 3 am snowplows don't mix. I'm dead tired but miraculously enough, I think I'm still on for Tuesday Treadmill Time when Bear goes down for a nap in 3 hours. Because that sucks less than clearing the driveway in a -11 wind chill.)

Thursday Compromise

Well, it's Thursday. On Thursdays I either run or bike. Or while base training in winter, any cardio is acceptable. So today's roster in my Grand Plan to Pretend I Didn't Take 14 Months (+ a Pregnancy) Off (GPPDTO) called for the elliptical.

But that was before Bear got me up at 3 am for no particular reason. (The night before it was 1 and 3 and 5, but that was because the snowplow kept waking him up.) Two nights of broken sleep (+ my newly returned period) gave me a migraine. Which I still have, even though Wonderful Husband stuck around and was 2 hours late for work this morning so I could take some meds and try to sleep it off.

Since I've already tried 2 medications, closed all the blinds and gone through half the ice packs with little improvement I don't see today's workout happening. At least I managed to avert the Endless Puking portion of the migraine festivities.

So today's comprise is at least an homage to my 2009 race season. I set up an RSS feed on a Craigslist search for wetsuits. Because if the wetsuit thing works out, I can finally do this race. Although at the moment I must admit I thought it was in August and I'm suddenly freaking out at the mid-July date. Because I wanted another month to prep for my first attempt at an Oly.

Hey, look at that! I'm thinking like a triathlete again. Maybe this won't be so bad after all.

Small Victories

Yesterday I decided that I was going to pick up my old workout schedule where I left off. Just make it part of my life again like it had not gone on, um... let's say "hiatus." 'Cause that sounds nicer than completely fucking derailed.

I'm not saying I was expecting to jump right back into full-on race training. I'm just saying it's Tuesday, and on Tuesdays I run.

So. Right before I got Bear ready for his nap I got me ready to work out.

The Bear cried because he wanted to keep emptying the contents of my bathroom drawer into the dog's water bowl. I cried because I was so desperately tired I couldn't see how I was going to get through his naptime routine, let alone through a damn workout.

Then I thought back to all the times over the last few years when I was tired and sore (and pregnant and puking) and still did my workouts. And I thought about how good I always felt afterwards and how I never regretted sucking it up and doing it.

Basically, at 1:15 PM on January 6th, I decided it was time to HTFU.

And for 35 minutes, I did. For right now, I'm calling that good enough.

Until Thursday.