Grrrrrr.

You probably noticed that I didn’t post this weekend.

No accountability reports, no updates.

Yeah.

It wasn’t a good weekend. I weighed in on Friday morning at 125.8 (expected, as I knew the 124.6 was more than likely water weight), and I ate well all day. My husband planned a beer tasting (like a wine tasting, but with craft beer), so I got a good workout in (two hours of elliptical) to give myself an extra allowance for dinner.

Yeah. I was bad. I ate a TON of cheese, drank three glasses of wine, and had a bunch of salty crackers. Even with my 1,250+ calorie burn, I was still way over my calorie limit, consuming close to 2,800 total calories.

OK… so Friday was my cheat day.

Then Saturday came along. My weight was up HORRIBLY (over 130) and I was depressed.

I ate healthy, worked out HARDCORE (60 minutes on the stairmaster for 1,003 burned calories + 60 minutes elliptical for another 630 calories burned), and then my husband and I had pho for dinner, followed by chocolate.

Again, over my calorie allowance, but I burned enough (fortunately) to still be at a burn.

On Sunday, I weighed in at 134.

134!! How do I go from 124.6 on Thursday to 134 on Sunday? Is it truly, physically possible to gain 10 lbs in three days?!

I took two diuretic pills, desperately trying to flush out the salt. I drank 1.5 liters of aloe vera juice, 1.5 liters of water, and 2 cups of green tea. I wasn’t able to workout (I had to work and a stack of homework), but I managed to squeeze in about 45 minutes of walking, and then I did 250 squats, 100 lunges, and 100 bicep curls while watching TV with my husband before bed.

This morning? 131.8 lbs.

Honestly, why do I even try? 😦

~ Tori

Tuesday Accountability Report

It was a good day, but a bad evening. A very bad evening.

I won’t expound here, but I will say that a bad evening translates into a good workout: when I’m upset (or angry, or stressed), I feel compelled to push myself harder than normal at the gym. I try to make the emotional pain fade by trading it for physical exhaustion.

When your muscles ache and tremble from fatigue, it’s hard to think of anything but a hot bath and a soft bed. Through exercise, my hurt is numbed.

Probably not healthy, but it’s better than my old habit: binging and purging.

With that said, my exercise tonight basically cancelled out the entirety of my day:

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Fortunately for me, I ate my “planned cheat,” the gluten-free chocolate chip cookie I was salivating over in an earlier blog post, before heading to the gym. So, at least that part of my evening went well!

Tomorrow is a new day. Tomorrow will be a better day.

Have a good night and bon appetit, my friends!

– Tori

A Letter to the World

Dear world:

What do you want from me?

I spent the first twenty years of my life “too fat” by your standards.  I was heckled, ridiculed, ostracized, and abused.

When I was in grade school, the kids would warn one another that I might eat them, or (worse yet) sit on them if they made me upset.

In middle school, I was ridiculed. Teased, voraciously and cruelly, by anyone that needed an ego-boost to get through their day.

In high school, I faced the worst of the abuse: I was ignored. I faded into the background, the lockers clanging and bells ringing, and no one really bothered to look for me beyond help with test questions and customized study guides.

For the last decade, I’ve worked to take control of my body.

I developed (and fought to overcome) an eating disorder as an adult. I dieted and I binged; I exercised and I purged; I succeeded and I failed.

In the last few years, I gained balance (for the most part) of my body.

I eat healthy and clean, but savor my fair share of chocolate. I exercise heavily and frequently, but make time to lay in a hot bath and veg.

I’ve gone from my peak weight – 214 pounds – down to 125.

I’m less than five weeks away from my 30th birthday and, for the first time in years, I feel like I’m back in school. Except now instead of being called fat, people call me “skinny.” Why does it hurt just as much?

“You’re too thin.”
“You’ve lost too much weight.”
“You look sickly.”
“You need to stop.”

When I was fat, everyone – children and adults alike – felt it was their right, their privilege, to pass judgment on my body.

I was “unhealthy,” and they needed me to know it. I was “unhealthy,” and they needed to set me straight. Maybe a little tough love would do the trick?

Now, at 5’3″ and 125 pounds, their civil responsibility has returned. My body isn’t right, and it’s their duty to remind me as often as they can, lest I forget.

I eat 1,200-1,900 calories per day.
I exercise 4-6 days per week.
I eat chocolate.
I eat chips.
I count calories, but don’t deny myself the things I enjoy.
I love to run.

I am strong. I am healthy. I am finally nearing a place where *I* am OK with my body.

Yet the world is not.

Why is my weight someone else’s business?

Why is my body the subject of someone else’s conversation?

Too fat, too thin, too big, too small.

What, exactly, do you want from me, world?

When am I allowed to be happy with my body? When will YOU be happy with my body?

And why do I care what you think?

Feeling dejected today,

~ Tori

Down Day

I don’t like what I see in the mirror today.

I’m frustrated. Frustrated with my body, frustrated with my will power, frustrated with me (on every level).

I kill myself at the gym only to come home and eat junk food. I know better. I understand good nutrition and I eat healthy 90% of the time, but I find myself in a self-sabotaging mood almost every evening.

In the span of minutes, I undo all the work of my day. A bite here, a bite there, and I’ve cancelled out an intensive sweat session.

I’m angry. Angry at myself, angry at genetics. My mother is tiny. My father was tiny. I never once saw either enter a gym. I never once saw either count a calorie. They just were.

For the majority of my adult life, I’ve been aware. Aware of what I eat, aware of what I do (or don’t do), and aware of how I look. I’ve never just existed. I’ve been hyper-aware of food, of my body, and of the world’s perception of me for as long as I can remember.

I’m tired of being jealous of other people. Tired of being jealous watching someone eat something I deny myself, put on a pant size I can never hope to squeeze into. I’m tired of not being satisfied of where I am of, of where I’ve come from.

Will I ever love my body? Will I ever hit my “goal” if my goal is never static? Will I ever stop being jealous and start appreciating what I have?

Looking at myself in the mirror today, I think the answer is no.

Hoping for a better day tomorrow,

~ Tori

 

Don’t Freak Out

I’m trying to keep myself calm. I’m trying NOT to freak out. I got on the scale this morning and it’s WAAAAY up.

Five pounds up.

I’ve done a lot of exercise lately (I ran for 2 hours, 45 minutes on Friday alone) and a lot of strength training, so I know most of the weight is the result of muscle fatigue and lactic acid back-up.

I’ve also consumed a lot of salt lately, polishing off a gigantic bowl of Vietnamese Pho on Saturday like it was my job:

 

This was a picture taken HALFWAY through the bowl. Yeaaaaah, I finished it.

This was a picture taken HALFWAY through the bowl. Yeaaaaah, I finished it.

I’m trying not to believe that these five pounds are real, but the numbers terrified the snot out of me this morning.

I admit, I’ve been eating a TON of candy lately.

I haven’t limited myself to one Cadbury egg this week; I’ve had 2-3 daily most of this week. I believed my extra workouts entitled me to it (which they did, I guess, if my goal was to cancel out my exercise with food) and now I’m trying to assure myself that I haven’t gained five pounds from chocolate.

Right?

Don’t freak out. Don’t purge. Don’t lose control.

I’m guzzling water and coffee today. I’m avoiding salt. I’m praying for a miracle tomorrow.

~ Tori

Cheat Days are Good Reminders!

I’ve spent the last 24 hours absolutely eating whatever I want. Pizza for dinner, waffles (with honey and peanut butter – YUM!) and cheesy scrambled eggs for breakfast. Jelly beans and s’mores (yes, s’mores) for lunch.

jelly-beans

I decided to let myself go crazy for the last 24 hours and I’ve held nothing back. I hadn’t given myself a true “Cheat Day” in a long time: I’ve tried to live by the 80/20 rule – eat healthy 80% of the time so when you want a splurge here and there–the 20%–it doesn’t feel like a big deal.

So, for the last 24 hours, I’ve eaten what I’ve wanted right when I wanted it and let myself eat any quantity my hands/stomach/heart wanted.

What have I learned?

Sugar is overrated.

I have a headache. My stomach is queasy and off-centered. The more I eat, the stronger the cravings for more become. It’s this painful cycle of ups and downs and I can feel the damage in my limbs (they’re heavy and dragging), my brain (it’s totally cloudy), and my moods (crazy giddy to hate-the-world melancholy).

I’ve only been doing it for 24 hours and I’m already ready to swear off sugar for life.

While I’ve always believed in moderation (one Cadbury Creme Egg per day, please!), I think the occasional “go crazy” cheat day is a positive specifically for this reason. Today’s the prime example of why I try to squeeze in a true Cheat Day once every five to six weeks.

It reminds me that junk food is just that: JUNK. It makes you feel like CRAP.

It’s like putting unleaded 87 fuel into a racecar: the engine pings randomly, the torque seems lessened, and the overall engine runs with a stutter.

While it was freeing to scarf down anything and everything I wanted, it’s only 4:30pm and I’m already over it. I want a salad. I want some grilled chicken. I want to throw away every piece of clearance Easter candy I hoarded in the last two weeks and live on nothing but green vegetables and water for the next month.

I know, I know. I’m overreacting. Tomorrow, all I will think about during work will be my daily Cadbury Creme Egg and I’ll look back at these “24 Free Hours” as a beautiful memory. Right now, though, I just want some cucumber slices and a shot of pepto bismo.

I guess cheat days are good reminders of why we try to live a healthy lifestyle. I can’t imagine existing like this!

On that note–bon appetit, my friends!

~ Tori