But I Know... It's My Own Damn Fault

You know how when you're busy, you make poor food decisions because you have to eat like you'll never eat again? That was essentially my weekend. It's also what I do every time I work a wedding or an event. I seriously represented every part of the food pyramid that is horrible for you. Yesterday I assisted with my first ever recital for my mother-in-law's dance school. Since meals were confined to whatever you could shovel in your trap in between lining up tiny sequined dolls for their numbers, my meals consisted of:

-Frosted animal crackers
-A maple cinnamon granola bar
-A (couple) piece(s) of pepperoni bread
-A salami and cheese sandwich in a pita pocket (which at this point seemed healthy)
-A cheddar cheese stick

And that was just during the show. After it was over, I was given the task of picking up the mini sandwich platters for the after party. Which I promptly devoured two of before the guests even arrived because I wanted to beat the crowd. A handful of bread and butter pickles, three helpings of macaroni salad and a hefty slice of birthday cake later and my food coma set in. Did I mentioned that whilst consuming this food I enjoyed two mason jar margaritas and a birthday cake shot? I mean, it was Cinco de Mayo (good excuse as I'm clearly embracing my non-Mexican heritage) and my sister-in-law's birthday.

this is how southerners celebrate their non spanish roots

Needless to say, today I was as bloated as that purple girl in Willy Wonka (I don't actually know her name I've never seen it STOP JUDGING ME). It was as if the generous helpings of margarita salt had caused me to retain every ounce of liquid I had drank in the last three days. As much as I love my 'ritas, feeling like a walking ad for a Jimmy Buffet restaurant is not a good look... or feel.

But did this cause me to go on a self induced hunger strike? Of course not! Because today I ate a chocolate frosted coffee roll (breakfast of champions), my Healthy Choice frozen meal for lunch, a mall pretzel, and half a big Kit Kat. I tried to balance this by drinking a Nalgene's worth of water. I probably should have drank another, but I once read this story about a girl that freaked out on ecstasy at her 16th birthday or something, and in an effort to come off it, her friends force fed her water and she died because she flushed all of the sodium out if her body. This is clearly the same thing, so you can see why I'm afraid.

By the time I left work, I was literally feeling like crap. I definitely knew I should go to the gym. So I dressed  in my underused TJ Maxx workout duds and putzed around my apartment. After almost a half an hour, I decided it was time to get off my ass and be serious. So I of course spent 20 more minutes on Pinterest and updated my Spotify playlists. Then nausea set in. I knew it was my body rejecting me for treating it so horribly. My own anatomy was trying to break up with me, but like an endangered wife in a Lifetime movie, couldn't bear to think of what life would be like without the abuse.

Or maybe it was the fact that I took a vitamin at 6:30 without food. Either way, every organ in my body was screaming at me to stop the violence. I texted Steve and begged him to make me a salad for dinner. But still, I needed to attempt some physical exertion today. So I went to the gym. I almost fell off the elliptical from the shakes, but I at least did 30 minutes which mentally made me feel a little better.

So why put this all out there on the Internet? Because like the closet intervention, I often don't recognize how out of control I am until see it written down. Also I don't like to just come out and tell my husband when I do dumb things, so I wait until he sees them on the Internet and questions me later. And of course, blogging is about being honest, and if I put it out there how horribly I'm treating myself, people will ask me about it and it kind of holds you accountable for your actions.


Consider this a cry for help from me to myself. I have to get it together. Whenever I talk about my lack of enthusiasm for exercise or my humorous binge snacking anecdotes, people always look at me disgusted and go "ugh. But you're so skinny." While I am on the petite side, I can feel myself ruining my body, and I'm only getting older. Before I know it, things are going to start slowing down and trying to move south. I'm not saying I'm going to turn into Jillian Michaels overnight, but I need to at least attempt to work in some healthier habits into my life. I'm not giving up macaroni and cheese. Definitely not. But maybe stop being a crazy secret shameful snacker all the time, every day.


So here's to not eating an English muffin at 11:30 pm, going to the gym more than once a month, and avoiding food babies at all costs. And also regular babies. Gotta get my stamina up before I can even think about giving birth someday.


~L


Also, five points for you if you get the Margaritaville reference in title. I was going to do a play on "lost shaker of salt," but I was worried that everyone would burst from excitement of thinking I had selected a set of salt and pepper shakers. Which I haven't.