Being that it’s Monday I thought I would start you off with a laugh. Those of you familiar with me and the blog know I am a faller. Pretty sure it’s in my DNA. I trip and fall through life in usually the most embarrassing of ways. On Saturday night, while walking back to my car after being out with friends, I completely ate it. The parking lot where said fall occurred is made of bricks and there was a deep crack I didn’t see coming. Before you ask, I was sober and wearing TOMS. I can’t even blame whiskey and wedges. My left foot got caught on the crack and I began seeing myself fall in slow motion. If you’ve ever fallen, and you’re an alien if you haven’t, you know everything gets blurry and your immediate instinct is to put your hands down. I end up falling on both hands but my body weight must have been shifted to my right side. My right palm hits the bricks, then my shoulder slams into the ground and finally my FACE breaks the fall. I roll over, slowly assessing the damage. Did I break anything? Is my face bleeding? DID I RIP MY NEW (vegan) LEATHER JACKET OR CALVIN KLEIN JEANS?!? Priorities, people. Negative on all accounts but my right hand and right temple are in serious pain. I’m laughing so hard at myself and the situation that I can’t get up. After a painful night’s sleep, several bruises and 2.5 hours at the walk-in clinic, the positives are that my hand isn’t broken and my face is only slightly blue. It’s comforting to know that no matter how much weight I lose, I will ALWAYS be that clumsy girl who should not leave the house without sporting bubble wrap.
Falling on Saturday fits quite nicely in with the theme of my life the last two weeks; I have completely fallen off the wagon. Friends, I promised to be honest with you and I have to admit that life hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbows lately. January, especially the second half, threw a lot at me, emotionally, and to say I was derailed is an understatement. I was speeding down a mountain, with broken breaks, toward a cliff resulting in a fiery mess at the bottom of a ravine and a smoke plume reaching 60 feet in the air. You name it, I ate it. This past week was filled with donuts, muffins, cookies, brownies, banana pudding and a food truck rally (buffalo chicken grilled cheese, parmesan fries, fried ravioli, quesadilla, crispy Brussel sprouts covered in feta cheese, Zeppoli, ½ a cookie and ½ a peanut brownie). Usually, I can forgive some tainted eating in the name of working out but I haven’t been doing that either. Getting back to my gym routine has been beyond difficult. Luckily, today brings a new week, a new month and an opportunity to move on. I am up 5 lbs. and have to get back to good THIS INSTANT. The thing about even the tiniest gain at this low (for me) weight is that I can feel it. I can feel the tightness in my jeans, the heaviness in my stomach and the shame/guilt combo. I’m weighed down emotionally and physically. I totally deserve the weight gain, I earned it! I worked really hard to eat everything I could and to avoid the gym. I’m starting at point zero and forgetting the past weeks. They were fun but they’re over. Sarah needs to get her shit together because she’s got goals to meet. I raise my right hand and pledge today, February 2nd, that I will have no cheats or treats until February 14th when I have a very romantic day planned to visit Harry Potter with my friend (calm down, mom, it’s Michelle). I’ve learned that the more frequent I have a treat, the harder it is to forget what sugar tastes like. One piece of candy leads to eating a piece every day. When I first started, I went 15 weeks without a cheat or treat. Life was so much less tempting then and I wasn’t bothered by sugar or carbs dancing around me.
My ride on the struggle bus is over and today is my stop. The best I can do is to take it one day at a time. I can eat right and exercise today. I’ll deal with tomorrow later. If I can make it through today, I will eventually have made it through 12 todays strung together.
::Deep breath:: Here we go…