(no subject)
So here's the thing: I have a food problem.
If you've ever chatted with me via AIM you'll know that I'm fairly fitness aware. Which is to say that I obsess; I work out at least twenty minutes everyday (and up to two hours, excluding all-day activities like surfing or hiking or playing volleyball) and run 3-6 miles three or four mornings a week in addition to that. I subscribe to Fitness, Self, Shape, Women's Health, Men's Health, and for a short time, Fit Pregnancy. I watch The Exercise Channel for fun (sometimes participating as I do house cleaning), I squeeze my glutes when stopped at red lights, my sports watch is set on an hourly alarm so that I do a set of squats every hour, and any surface is fair game as a support for inverted push-ups.
This extends to food, of course. I think about food 24/7. All the time. Even when I'm not eating, it's on my mind. The Next Meal lingers in my brain, hammering away while I frantically figure out what I can eat. Because what I can eat depends on what I have eaten. Following? No? Let me explain; generally I start my morning out with a bowl of steel-cut oats cooked with egg whites and topped with fresh berries of some kind and a teaspoon of organic maple syrup. If I eat this for breakfast, then I can have a grilled veggie sandwich for lunch. If, however, I choose to have a piece of toast (and I make all of our bread because I can't stand to put preservatives into my family if I can help it) with peanut butter, I cannot have bread for the rest of the day, which means a salad with tofu for lunch and then grilled veggies and salad for dinner.
Did I mention I don't eat carbs after lunch? I don't eat carbs after lunch. And I don't eat after eight o'clock. And if I don't drink a minimum of two litres of water, well, let's just not talk about the guilt that that induces.
So what's the point of this rather pointless hashing-out of my neurosis?
Today, my friends, I have failed epically. I had a farm egg fried in walnut oil and a Granny Smith apple for breakfast. Fine, great, a nice change of pace. But then for lunch I had a MASSIVE bowl of ravioli. And not just any ravioli. White pasta (which violates the If It's White, Don't Bite rule) stuffed with spinach and mozzarella cheese and topped with oregano and parmesan. A giant bowl - literally about two and half portions. AND IT WAS DELICIOUS.
But the downfall to this? Is now that I've broken a few rules, I want to break the rest of them.
Right now I want nothing more than to drive to the grocery store and buy six or seven Caramello bars and eat all of them in one glorious, gluttonous sitting and to hell with all the consequences of such a sinful (and oh-so-satisfying) course of action.
But because I can't allow this, can't let myself do this, I'm sitting here salivating and agonizing over the fact that there is literally absolutely no chocolate or sweets or anything satisfying in the cupboards. At all. Because it's health-conscious.
Sometimes, I really hate it.
Oh god. My therapist is going to have a field day with this.
If you've ever chatted with me via AIM you'll know that I'm fairly fitness aware. Which is to say that I obsess; I work out at least twenty minutes everyday (and up to two hours, excluding all-day activities like surfing or hiking or playing volleyball) and run 3-6 miles three or four mornings a week in addition to that. I subscribe to Fitness, Self, Shape, Women's Health, Men's Health, and for a short time, Fit Pregnancy. I watch The Exercise Channel for fun (sometimes participating as I do house cleaning), I squeeze my glutes when stopped at red lights, my sports watch is set on an hourly alarm so that I do a set of squats every hour, and any surface is fair game as a support for inverted push-ups.
This extends to food, of course. I think about food 24/7. All the time. Even when I'm not eating, it's on my mind. The Next Meal lingers in my brain, hammering away while I frantically figure out what I can eat. Because what I can eat depends on what I have eaten. Following? No? Let me explain; generally I start my morning out with a bowl of steel-cut oats cooked with egg whites and topped with fresh berries of some kind and a teaspoon of organic maple syrup. If I eat this for breakfast, then I can have a grilled veggie sandwich for lunch. If, however, I choose to have a piece of toast (and I make all of our bread because I can't stand to put preservatives into my family if I can help it) with peanut butter, I cannot have bread for the rest of the day, which means a salad with tofu for lunch and then grilled veggies and salad for dinner.
Did I mention I don't eat carbs after lunch? I don't eat carbs after lunch. And I don't eat after eight o'clock. And if I don't drink a minimum of two litres of water, well, let's just not talk about the guilt that that induces.
So what's the point of this rather pointless hashing-out of my neurosis?
Today, my friends, I have failed epically. I had a farm egg fried in walnut oil and a Granny Smith apple for breakfast. Fine, great, a nice change of pace. But then for lunch I had a MASSIVE bowl of ravioli. And not just any ravioli. White pasta (which violates the If It's White, Don't Bite rule) stuffed with spinach and mozzarella cheese and topped with oregano and parmesan. A giant bowl - literally about two and half portions. AND IT WAS DELICIOUS.
But the downfall to this? Is now that I've broken a few rules, I want to break the rest of them.
Right now I want nothing more than to drive to the grocery store and buy six or seven Caramello bars and eat all of them in one glorious, gluttonous sitting and to hell with all the consequences of such a sinful (and oh-so-satisfying) course of action.
But because I can't allow this, can't let myself do this, I'm sitting here salivating and agonizing over the fact that there is literally absolutely no chocolate or sweets or anything satisfying in the cupboards. At all. Because it's health-conscious.
Sometimes, I really hate it.
Oh god. My therapist is going to have a field day with this.