Color Me Fit: weight loss, fitness, exercise

All I can say is: “Ack.”

I’m not proud of myself, today. Not proud at all. From the start, my eating had gone out of control. There wasn’t much food left at home, I had completely forgotten to buy more of what I need for healthy breakfasts, and I ended up eating some of my boyfriend’s snacks — namely sugary, chocolatty stuff — for breakfast. Breakfast, for goodness’ sake. When this one goes the wrong way, the whole day already seems tainted.

It could’ve been worse, much worse, but it wasn’t a catstrophe either: I could always do better later on, right? Well, I didn’t. I was headed to the post office this afternoon, got rid of the letters I had to send… then walked straight into the drugstore nearby and grabbed a pack of cookies and one of bretzels. That I stuffed in my bag, smuggled in my computer room, and ate all alone in my corner. This was mindless and disgusting; I didn’t even find any pleasure in it. I just ate. There wasn’t even any specific reason to it, no stress, sad feelings, whatever — I just felt like eating, and certainly not healthy snacks. Funny, how healthy snacks never really appealto me, save for fruits, but snacking on carrots just seem so pretty blank.

Mindless eating, that was it. It had been a long time I hadn’t experienced this, and in spite of this not being “too much food” in itself, it was yucky. It’s so much different from eating ice cream or chocolate cake when I go to a family meeting or to a restaurant with friends: in these circumstances, at least, I do ensure that I appreciate every single bite, and that it’s “worth it”. This wasn’t even the case today, and this is probably what disgusts me the most about it. I know it doesn’t mean a definitive setback, that it’s not the end of the world, that I haven’t “blown it all”. However, I so despise now feeling bloated and “full” (not the “full after a good, appropriate-in-quantity dinner”: the “full that clearly accompanies overeating”). It’s somehow about feeling ashamed of myself for my lack of control, and above all, it’s about the physical feeling. I don’t feel well at all when I do that, when I overeat on cookies and chocolate chips and heavy, unhealthy foods. Thanks whatever in the world, my body is less tolerant of these things now.

Still, I’m a little frightened, frightened that I may not be able to overcome such behaviors again, that I may go back to them, like I was doing one year ago, when I piled on these last 15 pounds that were to break the camel’s back. I don’t want to let myself slip and gain on several kilos again just because I’m too lazy or too blind or too ashamed to lok at myself in the eyes and say: “No. You did that today, but you are NOT going to do that tomorrow, nor the day after, nor this week-end”. In a way, this can perhaps make the difference, compared to this period during which I just didn’t care about myself and my body. I’m aware of it. I’m willing to confront it. I don’t want nor do I intend on closing my eyes and pretend that this sorry episode never happened.

It happened, alright. Now it’s up to me to make sure that it doesn’t happen again.

And drats, i am really feeling like I’ve just gobbled down a bag of concrete. Yuck.