Keeping the Line- 29 Wk Food Journal Check In/ Cancer Scare

In April, I received the news that I had a small patch of basal cell carcinoma (skin cancer) on my face by my right nostril.  A small pustule had been bleeding off and on and my wise husband said “You better go get that looked at.”  Though he had to nudge me several times before I made an appointment.  The dermatologist biopsied it along with doing a full body check for other possible skin cancers.  Considering I’m covered in freckles from my Irish side, everything looks like cancer to me.  I was sitting in my home office working the morning when the doctor called and said the dreaded words “It’s cancer.”

My mother died of metastasized colon cancer after an 8 year battle not only with colon but lung cancer.  To say this traumatized me watching her suffer so much is an understatement.  Aside from something tragic happening to my family, my biggest fear has been to get cancer.  Any kind of cancer.  I have nightmares about it and I’m always getting check or tested as much as I possibly can for different types such as getting a mammogram, colonoscopy, etc.  I do not want to die like my mother did, slowly wasting away, cancer taking over her bones where she was in constant pain.  We wouldn’t let our pets die this way, I’m not sure why we do our humans.  But that’s another blog post altogether.

I remember ending the call with the doctor and just staring out the window as my biggest fear had just come to life.  Logically, I knew it was a minor type of cancer, non life-threatening.  If I was going to have any kind of cancer, this was highly curable.  My unlogical emotional and fearful side just swelled and took over, stealing away my logic for about an hour or two.  I cried, I felt doomed, I was thinking but I used sunscreen at least from my mid-twenties when skin cancer advocates preached prevention.  Would I have a huge scar on my face?  Would that matter if it’s removed.  I just wanted that cancer out of my body and knew I would not hear from the skin cancer surgeon for a few days.

Then my brain kicked in and I calmed myself down.  Stop overreacting, I told myself firmly.  You’ve got this, you know people going through way worse than you, stop being a damned pussy about it.   Grow up, get a grip and get back focused with your life. The surgery was scheduled for the end of May, almost a month away.  I am an emotional eater.  I use food to comfort me and make me feel better.  Now that my mom is gone, I gravitate more toward food.  During this month, I was not as diligent about entering what I ate in the food journal, finally just giving it up until after the surgery.  Then I just let it sit until I weighed myself last weekend and realized I had indeed gained a few pounds back.  Nothing major but obviously left to my own devices, I don’t really pay attention as closely as I believe to what I eat.

I knew the time between the call telling me I had cancer until the surgery, I was eating when I wasn’t hungry.  I’ve read all sorts of books on emotional eating, I’ve tried the listen to what you really want and eat it only those things type of instruction they give you from that book.  I’m sure that works for some people.  But me, I always think I want chocolate or something not good for me or to eat when I am bored, upset but not hungry.  The problem is, I’m so good at lying to myself and excusing what I eat, that I am not a reliable source of recollection and tracking just in my mind alone.  My mind covers up my extra portions and little treats I think, oh those calories won’t count much.  Except they do.  Every single one of those little bastards add up and total much more than the 1800 calorie limit I set for myself daily.

To know your limitations is to know thineself.  My limitation is that I have spent so many years lying to myself about what I eat because I was in this binge/purge/overeating/under eating/dieting cycle that I still carry around my old habits.   Though this May, I quietly acknowledged my emotional overeating without coming down on myself.  I just noted that it was a rough period I was going through, I was eating to comfort myself and it’s not the best for me but I’m okay.  Several years back, I would beat myself up and then eat even more because I felt worse.  It’s an odd cycle, emotional overeating.   I also said things to myself like, well at least it’s a little extra food and not crack or heroin.  You could be self-medicating with way worse substances.  So I have come a long way but I’m still not quite in the zen of ony eating when I’m hungry mindset.

So the solution?  A simple one.  Back at the food journal 24/7, full time, recording every thing I shove into my pie hole.  That’s a lovely mental image isn’t it?  It’s been working and when I go off the journal, I regain a bit because even though I would like to believe that I am acutely aware of what I eat, I still tend to use food for comfort at times or I don’t remember things I’ve eaten.  Having the calories consumed in black and white on my phone is a continual reminder to adjust my eating habits.  I was hoping by the time six months had come and gone into this food journal experiment, that I would have the knowledge and wisdom to eat without the food journal.  While I have improved, I’m not quite there yet.  I have some old, latent issues to resolve.  Which is good news because now I can pinpoint them and work on them more specifically.  It took me years to get to where I am, it won’t be overnight for me to correct them.   It’s a journey like anything else.

Since I have been back on the food journal wagon, keeping the line, I’ve lost a few of the five pounds I gained.  Two steps forward and one step back.  The important thing is to keep going forward and learning along the way.  I could easily get pissed off and discouraged so I quit but that doesn’t do me any good nor does it fix the problem.  If I give up, then I lose.  I fail myself.  I’m not doing that.  I’ve done it enough in the past.  It’s time to keep the line, keep going.  Keep using that annoying app and record every little dang thing I eat.  Mostly it’s annoying because I want to think I eat better than I really do and having that pointed out to me pisses me off.  It really isn’t the app’s fault.

Food journals work, if you use them.  Kindness to yourself works as well.  I could be ranting at myself that I am a failure for my weight gain but I am not.  I’m just getting back on the horse and back into the food journal groove.

With the manta – Keep the line, keep the line.  I’m not even sure what that means but it sure sounds good.  Ciao!

PS – The surgery went well, it was a tiny spot and I only ended up with minor scarring.  I was being a big weenie about it all because of my fear of getting cancer.

 

Sick of Starting Over (Fitness)…

We all have something that we struggle with throughout our life.  For awhile we may overcome it but maybe it creeps back into our day-to-day life.  For me, since I was around 11, it’s been weight and dieting.  I spent my childhood not worrying about weight or looks but out playing, exploring and riding my bike.  The only time I was ever on a scale was at the doctor’s office and that number was simply something the nurse noted down or told my mom and that was that.  Weight wasn’t a focus in my life.

Then I spent one summer with my weight-obsessed maternal grandmother who was always on a diet of some sort.  She worshipped the scale as if it had some magic power to make her into the person she always wanted to be.  At the time, I lived in Missouri near my paternal grandparents and that grandmother was too busy doing chores, feeding livestock and milking cows to even care about weight.  She was a bit on the heavy side but I never once heard her talk about a diet or not having a cookie or being upset she couldn’t fit into a pair of slacks.  But in 1981, my parents shipped my sister and I from mid-Missouri to eastern Ohio to spend the summer with my mom’s parents.

My maternal grandparents lived in a small two-bedroom, one bath ranch house built in the 1940’s which was crammed full of antiques and furniture they collected.  In the small hall that connected the bath and two small bedrooms was a dry sink and one day my grandmother led me into the hallway and pulled out a digital scale which was very new-fangled back in 1981.  I was simply fascinated with the red LED numbers that would show up.  She would step on the scale but I was not allowed to look at the number.  I really didn’t know why but she was my grandmother so I obeyed her wishes.  Then I stood on the scale and looked down at the number that didn’t mean a thing to me.  I couldn’t even tell you what it was any more if it even stuck in my mind then.

After that, every day the weighing ritual began.  I didn’t really pay much attention to it, just did as she asked.  The scale just seemed like a toy to me.  Things changed though after a few weeks.  My grandmother had been feeding my sister and I like we were starving kids in China.  I always only ate until I was just full, well except around holidays when the tables were full of so many delectable foods, I would stuff myself until I was sick.  Then my cousins and I would go run around the yard whether it be in shorts or snow suits.  Since it didn’t feel good to stuff myself like that, I only did it around holidays.

Except now, my grandmother was getting upset if I didn’t eat more.  So to please her I was eating beyond my comfort zone.  It was like a holiday at almost every meal.  Then the number on the scale started creeping up.  My clothes started to get tighter and tighter.  Soon they had to take me and buy me new clothes, except now I had to shop in the women’s department rather than the girls department.  I remember feeling sad I had outgrown my regular size which was toward the high-end of kids’ sizes anyway but I wasn’t quite ready to jump into grown up clothes.

When the daily weigh-in came now, I started to dread it and sometimes tried to get out of it.  My grandmother would look at the number and cluck sadly that I was gaining weight.  I felt like I had let her down or I was doing something wrong.  She would then send me out to run laps around the house or ride her old Schwinn bike up and down the street while she watched that no one abducted me.  Like some forced exercise program.   Then she started talking about diets not only in relationship to her since she was always on some diet, but in regards to me. In the midst of this summer, my parents sprang on me that we were moving from Missouri to the other side of Ohio.   I remember crying with body-wracking sobs on the phone to my mom that I didn’t want to move, to leave my other grandparents and the few friends I had to go to some strange town on the other side of Ohio.  I sank into more despair and turned to food for comfort.  Why not?  My grandmother was already feeding me like I was a line backer for the nearby Pittsburgh Steelers.  I already had a much larger wardrobe of adult sized clothes.

Looking back now, of course, I see I was gaining weight because she was literally force feeding me more than I wanted to eat.  It was this entire shaming cycle that to this day, I know my grandmother loved me very much and was a good person, but I do not understand why she did it other than misery loves company.  From that summer on, weight became an issue for me and I was never quite the carefree kid I had been before that summer.  I was creeping closer to middle school age and all the peer pressure, plus I was starting a new school where no one really accepted me.

I have dealt with eating disorders in my 20’s.  I had given up in my mid-30’s while suffering from a bad marriage and depression until I was almost 300 lbs.  At 38, I was diagnosed with hypothyroidism and trust me, the weight doesn’t magically come off when you start treatment.  At least not for me and most of the people I know who also have this issue. I’ve grown to accept my larger-sized body, stop beating myself up for it.  I’ve donated several scales and quit weighing myself altogether.  It took me awhile but I finally quit beating myself up, started loving myself and appreciating what my body could do even if I wasn’t thin or petite.  I was at least curvy and strong.  I could ride my bike 50 miles in a day or hike as much as I wanted.  I wasn’t running marathons, but I was athletic.

Then late fall, I read an article that documented a study that said exercise was not important that it was the calories that you ate.  I don’t even remember where I saw it, probably something linked to a Facebook post.  However, as I was starting my last semester of college with a full-time class load as well as working, this gave me permission to not worry about working out.  We had moved to the country and I wasn’t joining a gym again so I literally took from November-last week off of exercise.  I spent more time on my backside, lying on the couch and just immobile than I had in years.  At first my clothes fit fine.  Then after my birthday in February I noticed that my jeans were getting tighter.  Then I had a few yearly check up appointments where the scale came into play.  I was shocked at the number.  I had gained a good thirty pounds and since my jeans had been a little big to start with, I had room to grow.

When you spend so much of your time not active, it’s very hard to get back into that flow again.  The first few road cycling rides I took were a very stark testament to how out of shape I had become.  Though 30 pounds may not sound like much, on a bike it makes an enormous difference.  Not only are you having to move that much more weight on two wheels, you also have more pressure on your butt and hands which makes cycling even more uncomfortable.  Last year at this time, I actually weighed less than I had in years because of a medical condition that finally resolved itself in last July.  Riding last spring felt like I had wings, I was fast and could ride much further without as much training.  This spring, I feel like a sloth who can barely turn the crank.  That is why serious cyclists are obsessed with weight not only on their bodies but their bikes.  The more weight, the slower you are (unless you are going downhill) and the less miles you ride.  It is just simple physics.

The first few rides this year, I wanted to give up.  We have moved out to an area that is much more hillier than my previous routes when I rode from my house in town.  The kicker is that my house sits on one of the highest elevations in our county and no matter which way I ride from my driveway, east or west, I have to ride back up a big hill.  Hills are not the friend of the heavy cyclist.  I’ve had to drop out of my normal gear range I rode last year, into the lowest gears I have just to spin up this hill at a paltry 7-9 mph.  That feels like defeat to me though I tell myself, just ride it, you’re training, you’ll get back into shape.  But part of me wants to get off the bike, throw it in the ditch and stomp back home in a fit.  I have yet to do that as my bike cost quite a bit of money and my husband would never let me buy another one.  And that would be me acting like a baby, but I have a moment or two or three where I want to quit.

I wasn’t going to set a mileage goal this year and I’ve changed my mind.  I need the motivation to get out there and ride.  Minimum of 45 with the desired goal of 60 miles a week for me to reach the top range of my 2016 mileage goal since I haven’t ridden but 138 miles this year so far and it’s already late May.  Being mid-life, this is not the time to give up your exercise program.  If nothing else I need it more than ever.  I have a lazy thyroid and I’m moving into the menopausal years or perimenopause where the hot flashes are starting, my estrogen level is very low.  Now it is even more important that I take good care of myself because my body is slowing down.

This winter I noticed my desire and motivation to get out and do things had waned greatly and that I had little energy.  This spring I realized, I have to quit reading these stupid studies and trust what I know about myself.  Exercise makes me feel stronger, better and gives me a ton more energy.  It also boosts my self-esteem and self-image.  Plus my clothes look better on me.  At my recent college graduation, all my dresses went back in the closet after I realized that my weight gain made me look like lumpasaurus in them.  I want to buy some new spring or summer clothes to wear to work, but I am going to wait a month or so.  Otherwise I will be in the fitting room crying.  Know thyself.

So now that school is done, and most of my life goals except for publishing a novel have been met, I think now is a good time to focus on overcoming this lifelong struggle of mine with food, though I don’t overeat like I once did and getting into the kind of shape I want to be.  This isn’t about losing weight but about being able to do all the things I love without the fight and struggle of fighting my own body mass.  Following Geneen Roth’s advice of eat only when you are hungry, eat exactly what you want and stop before you are too full.  Essentially going back to how I ate before my summer at my grandmothers except I get to pick and cook the meals.

The second part is to keep activity and exercise forefront in my day. Push myself to new athletic heights.  The good thing is that I love to bike, hike and do yoga or even swim when I can.  I don’t dread exercise as many people do.  Just being active in general as well whether it be get off the couch and go pull some weeds or take a walk down my country road.  Expand my yoga practice to asanas that I haven’t yet tackled that look too hard.  You get the idea.

This week I have paid attention, consciously became more active and I feel so much better already.  I have more energy, I feel less like a fat sloth, it is amazing what exercise can do for you.  I will not diet, this always backfires as I rebel and end up gaining weight.  It is all about changing my lifestyle and staying active.  I have no weight or clothing size goal.  Just a mileage goal for my cycling this year.  To exercise most days of the week.  To not read some stupid article and give up on all my hard work.  Because when you are in your mid-40’s, you slide back pretty fast and it’s even harder to regain your former fitness level.  Slow and steady wins the race.  Well I don’t want to be slow but you know what I mean.

My goal is simply to make my weight and fitness (or lack of) a non-issue in my life after 35 years.  To be the best I can be without diets or craziness.  I am tired of struggling and I do not want to come back to the point again unless there is something out of my control.  It is time to resolve this once and for all so I can enjoy my life to the fullest.

Old Habits Die Hard…

Though I haven’t written about it for a long time, diets were something I gave up because they simply do not work, especially for me.  I’ve had different eating disorders off and on in my life, usually ‘mild’ cases of them but my biggest struggle was always emotional or compulsive overeating.  I got bored, I ate.   I got upset, I ate.  I got sad, I ate.  I was disappointed, I ate.  I got hurt, I ate.  You get the idea.  When I was in my mid 30’s, I was close to 300 pounds and completely miserable.  I hurt, I was out of breath walking across the room, I hated the way I looked.  My marriage at the time was horrible to put it lightly and I was fighting depression.  But then I finally got treatment for depression and the sun came out once again except I stil weighed almost 300 pounds.  

Dealing with my depression made me aware that I was using food for comfort and other reasons other than when I was just hungry.  I was in the bookstore one day looking through the self-help section when I found Geneen Roth’s book, Breaking Free From Compulsive Eating.  I went on to read all the titles of hers I could find and I follow her FaceBook page to this day reading her occasional posts.  I lost weight, and settled into a place where my body seems to be comfortable (though far from thin, I am fit to the point I baffle my family doctor). After years of ups/downs on the scale I was then diagnosed in 2009 with hypothyroidism.  People believe that once you start taking medication for hypothyroidism, the weight just falls off.  I have yet to meet a person that this has happened to without strict dieting and exercise.  So I just decided, screw it, I’m going to be happy the way I am, go out and ride 100’s of miles on my bike, hike, swim, jog or whatever makes me happy.  I thought I was good. I had a handle on all this.

Except a few years back Weight Watchers came to our employer and I got the bright idea to join it.  I am the one person who gained weight on WW.  Slowly but surely since that time, the dieting mentality has come back into my life.  Over the winter, I did not join a gym, my Wii fitness board broke, I found I hate riding my cycling rollers and I dislike doing anything other than yoga, walking/hiking outdoors when it isn’t frigid so essentially I quit moving.  Though I always gain a bit over the winter after the riding season, this winter it was a bit more than usual.  When I went for my yearly OB appointment, I stared at the red LED numbers on the scale in disbelief.  I had not weighed that much for years.  I can’t even blame it on riding and adding more muscle weight.  I look like the Pillsbury dough girl around the middle.  When I went to my family doctor a few days later, the number was confirmed, sadly.   

So I broke out my food journal app and started to track what I ate.  Another dieting mentality come back to life.  Then I did my 6 month blood test for my thyroid and got the call from my doctor’s office.  I needed to come in.  Seems my levels were up and therefore my dosage was no longer enough.  Battling two things at once.  Well at least that explained why I had not felt like doing much, or in other words why I felt like a big fat slug.  Two days into the higher dosage and I’m feeling my energetic self again, not the self who is wading through waist high concrete all day long.  This will help get me up and moving again as exercise is not an issue for me usually except during the winter though lately I haven’t wanted to do much at all.

When I started thinking about how I had been eating, it dawned on me that I had slipped back into that place of ups and down, deprivation, eating when I’m not hungry and so on.  I was reading Roth’s FaceBook posts and thinking oh that’s not me anymore and well, it is but at least not on the same degree as it once was.  No this time it was just a little bit more sneaky.   I didn’t realize I had lost the core instructions Roth preaches over and over in her books.  Trust yourself, trust your body to tell you what it needs, eat when you are hungry, you will not go stark-raving mad into a binge if you listen to what you body needs and you don’t restrict any foods.  You need to stay with your feelings, feel them, experience them rather than cram them into whatever coping mechanism you may have.  

For different reasons over the past years, I had forgotten a lot of what I learned to be true. I went back to not trusting myself to know what I needed or wanted.  I quit enjoying what I ate or even thinking about what I was truly hungry for or even if I was hungry at all.  So I pulled Roth’s books back out, downloaded every one of her books available that I could find free via my different library options and started my compulsive eating refresher course.  The interesting thing about reading these books about 10 years later, my life has changed so much that I’ve learned new things from them that I didn’t pick up before because I had not experienced certain tragedies and difficulties at that age.  

Day 1, I focused on what I wanted to eat and found that my normal menu fare that I lazily eat every day wasn’t really what I wanted, so I simply didn’t eat that much.  Day 2, I really thought about what I wanted to eat during the day before I packed my food for work.  Amazingly, I didn’t eat all that I packed since I was more satisfied with eating what I really wanted.  Day 3, I believed I wanted that donut for breakfast and since this food was no longer off limits, I ate it and enjoyed it.  Later I felt sick and thought why the hell did I eat that sugar filled stick.  I felt miserable.  So had that much changed that suddenly I was having these great epiphanies?  Nothing really, I just was asking myself: Are you hungry?  What do you want to eat? Are you enjoying what you are eating, does it taste good?  If the answer was “no”, then I stopped eating it and tried to decipher what I did want. 

Last night I went out to eat and found the food lacking so I simply did not eat much and went home and ate something I wanted more.  When I stop focusing on calories and on what I want to eat rather than what I shoud eat, something miraculous happens.  I really don’t turn into this raving eating machine that shovels everything into her gullet that is within her grasp.  I even turned down ice cream last night and I LOVE ice cream.  I wasn’t hungry so it wasn’t the right time to eat it but that doesn’t mean I can never have ice cream.  Life is too short to not enjoy what you eat.  Just within a few days of getting back into this mindset, I am a lot happier and find I am no longer compulsive eating.  

This doesn’t mean that I will magically become a supermodel and have the perfect body, it just means I’m not cramming stuff down that I don’t want or even need.  If I truly want pie for breakfast though, I am going to sit down and enjoy that pie.   The anxiety surrounding food has dissolved and it no longer has the power to make me so miserable and unhappy when it should truly be enjoyed.  As long as I keep asking myself those questions and being mindful of what I am eating or am wanting.

Lesson learned:  When I think I have it all down pat and I know it all, it is probably the moment I need to stop and check myself.  

The Numbers Game

We humans seem to love numbers.  They are a tangible way to measure progress or failure or fortune, just about everything.   Individually, we value ourselves by our weight, the size of our clothing, our height, our waist measurement and things like our net worth, etc.   These increments help us determine if we are being successful or failing.  But really do any of these numbers really, in the big scheme of life, matter?

The past eight months, I have struggled with an unknown and painful medical issue that just recently resolved itself, at least for the time being.  I saw every type of doctor I could think of and was getting ready to move onto voodoo and witch doctors.  I was getting desperate.  Pain kept me up half the night, lying in the fetal position on the living room carpet with pain so sharp I wanted to just do surgery on myself. Give me that steak knife, I can’t take it anymore! (Seriously, I had a moment where that sounded feasible).  On top of chronic pain and sleep deprivation, I was finding certain foods made my pain worse and slowly became dairy and gluten-free because it seemed to kind of help.  Not a lot, but again, I was trying everything.

Being dairy and gluten-free is a big challenge.  Basically it’s meat, potatoes, veggies (but I had to be careful with anything fibrous) and fruit.  Gluten-free food substitutes are passable usually but half the time is gritty and taste of dirt.  I had moments, where I just gave up eating because I was so dismayed.  Other days, I would watch the number on the scale go down and think oh well there is one positive.  At least I’m lighter, I can ride my bike further and faster.   I was trying to look on the bright side.

Then my issue resolved itself, suddenly.  As the pain disappeared immediately, a week later I tried a piece of dry toast.  Food wasn’t seeming to trigger anything now.  Nothing.  I got more brave.  A whole sandwich with not just one but two pieces of bread.  No side effects.  Hmmmm.  My daughter made rice krispy treats.  I devoured several of them.  Mmmmm.  Eventually I got brave and tried a small bit of vanilla soft serve.  Waiting, waiting, waiting.  Nothing.  No pain.  I wasn’t doubled over almost crying.  So I didn’t really have food intolerances.  These foods just make me a bit gassy and that was irritating my medical issue, just that simple.

Holy smokes!  I wasn’t intolerant or I might be a little but it wasn’t causing me pain.  It was if I was let out of food prison.  My middle daughter and I ordered a small pizza and cheesy breadsticks to eat on the beach at the lake we like to visit.  We spread out the blanket and put the two small boxes between us.  I hadn’t eaten “real” pizza in months.  My fingers were almost shaking when I opened the box.  Angel song surrounded us as did the greedy seagulls who realized we had food.  My first bite of cheesy goodness was like heaven.  I closed my eyes, listening to the waves gently break on the shoreline and the gulls squawking angrily at us for not sharing our bounty.  When did pizza ever taste so good as today?  I couldn’t remember when.

Last night, my husband and I were working on our house trying to get it ready to sell, I offered to order pizza and he had become so used to my narrow diet that he looked at me funny.  I assured him I could actually eat pizza from anywhere now.  Not just gluten-free crust from Dominos the next town over.  I ordered from a local place and added a half-order of nachos because I saw them on the menu and they sounded wonderful.  Anxiously I waited for our dog to go batshit crazy signaling the food had arrived.  I completely ignored the pizza and dug into the nachos.  They were the best nachos in the world.  Well, probably not but to me, at that moment, after not being able to eat them for months, they tasted amazing.  I’m not even a big nacho fan.  I rarely ordered them anyway but not being able to have them had made them a delicacy.

As I sat in my recliner after showering off the dust and dirt from our project (and probably some nacho cheese I missed from dinner), I thought why have I spent so many years worrying about my weight, what I put in my mouth or how much I work out?  Why have I joined gyms that I don’t go to, tried to follow the latest diet or exercise fad just to be ‘thin’.  Why not enjoy the food I truly want?  Granted I don’t want to eat nothing but junk because it makes me feel horrible.  I want to be healthy but not enjoying nachos once in awhile isn’t worth it to me.  I want to enjoy what I eat like I have been these past few weeks after a long hiatus from dairy and gluten.

I have found some different ways to eat that I actually like. I won’t reintroduce dairy like I used to eat it because I found my seasonal allergies have disappeared for the most part.  Candy like Twizzlers that I couldn’t have because of gluten, when I tried them again, I realized I don’t really like them that much.  If nothing else, this whole experience has made me realize that life is too short to deprive yourself for the sake of a number whether it be the scale or clothing.  That I like to eat better, more fruits and veggies and way less processed foods.  This showed me how much processed foods I really ate even though I would tell you that I avoided them.  That I had grown extremely lazy about cooking and how bad fast food really tastes.

Today I pulled the scale out from under my bathroom vanity and put it in a bag to be donated.  I’m on it most days, the number fluctuating up and down but never really making me happy and usually making me feel bad.  I won’t suddenly blow up into a parade float if I give this away.  I have to just trust the way the clothes fit.  Because as I showed last year, my weight barely budged with all the cycling I did but my body size shrunk greatly.  I’m also retiring my measurements spreadsheet.  I’m going to save it off onto my external hard drive and make it less accessible.  I’m not keeping clothing too small or too big.  If it doesn’t fit, I will donate or toss it.

Life is too short for the numbers game, I’m gonna eat nachos and enjoy every last greasy, cheesy, crunchy bite.