Angel Food (lowfat)

When I first started Weight Watchers back in 2005, food journaling was a revelation to me. It taught me how much I was eating, how much I should be eating, what “quality” foods are, and why I tended to overeat. But, now in this “second leg” of weight loss - that is losing some of the 30 lbs I gained back after losing 75 lbs - I have a much more complicated relationship with food journaling. Now when I journal every day, I tend to beat myself up when I overeat. For some reason, when the “bad days” are down on paper, they hurt deeply. The negative feelings overwhelm me, and it’s draining trying to deal with negative emotions and diet at the same time. I find myself back in a messy cycle of losing/gaining.

I’ve been faithful with a new food journal technique, using it not so much as a daily record. Instead, I use it as a simple tool to get me back on track. If I gain one week, then I’ll journal for a couple days to get my appetite regulated again. This new technique has been difficult for my compulsive little soul to get used to. At first, it felt weird not to write down my food every day. But, I’ve found security in knowing that the food journal is there if I need it. It’s on my desk nearby, and I look at it every now and again to realize my progress, to remember healthy meal choices, and just to mentally check in.

Miraculously, this journaling technique has really been working for me. I stood on the scales this morning and was stunned. I weighed 155. I’ve lost about 9 lbs since January 1 and am on track to meet my goal of being below 150 by my wedding. I was able to wear a dress to work this week that I couldn’t fit into a couple months ago. What a relief! I wish I could get to a healthy enough point where I don’t stress out and judge myself by “good” or “bad” food days. However, progress is progress, and I’m pleased as can be to have a weight loss strategy that’s working.

I’ve been out of town visiting my fiance for a few days, and now it is back to my sad little reality. I’m snuggling up to no one this evening, and then it’s back to my yawn-inspiring job tomorrow morning. Sigh. We’ve only about two more months of our long distance romance, then it’s the wedding, Hawaii, and life together. Woohoo!

These few days have been hit or miss with watching what I eat, which is better than I was doing last year when I went to visit the boy. I used to chow down, matching him nearly bite for bite. Although my choices weren’t always the best this past week, I did pretty well at portion management. I’m not looking forward to the Monday weigh-in, but I am also not completely dreading returning to my food journal. I think it’ll be a good week.

Tonight, I had a very hard conversation with my nephew. My “sweet nephew”, as I’ve always thought of him, is driving my entire family to the brink. After a month of keeping quiet, I finally called him. Ostensibly, I just wanted to tell him that I love him and miss him and that I hope he’s finding his way. I did that, but also wound up chewing him a new one in the process. Is it fair to tell an eighteen year old how stupid they’re being? How do you just let go and let them live and make terrible mistakes? Tonight, my relationship has changed with my nephew, and I’m so sad. I’m temporarily giving up on him, and I am so bereft.

I have a blog post around here somewhere. Somewhere, in the midst of crumpled tissues, discarded thermometer covers, and (finally!) a couple different prescriptions, there is a magazine renewal card nearby with a scribbled blog entry on it. I just have no idea where I put it. I wrote the entry in the wee hours of Saturday night when I was awake with fever, coughing up a lung, and hurting from the goo in my sinuses.

I don’t remember exactly what my notes were, so this is what you’re getting - random musings about the weekend.

I left my house in a tizzy on Saturday morning when the weather man said that a tornado was heading toward my neighborhood. (Disclaimer: you’re supposed to go hide in a basement when there’s a tornado coming, not jump in your car to drive away from it.) I drove to my mom’s house because my dad was out of town, and she was alone and scared. Also, I was sick, and Mom promised to take care of me. She made me soup and encouraged me to nap. Even the family cat let me steal a few cuddles. It was a good day, fever and hacking and pain be darned.

On Sunday, rare snow flurries (a once in a decade occurrence where I live) cheered me for a little while, but the warm fuzzies of being taken care of were starting to wear off. Somehow, in the midst of a perfectly normal conversation with my parents, I began mumbling words I didn’t even understand. Then, I burst into tears (the ugly, sobby kind) and begged my mom to take me to the doctor.

She sweetly did and only abandoned the waiting room twice to escape the 2 year old kid who kept screaming and punching his parents. Every one in the waiting room seemed to have some version of what I have. We were a sad, sniveling lot, indeed. I’m sure the fine folks who invented the Z-pak are making a fortune this week. Thank God for them!

Postscript: The upside of having no appetite - I’m at my lowest weight in about a year and my size 12 jeans are falling off of me. Yippee!