There comes a point where it's been so long since you blogged that you begin to wonder if you should even bother anymore. Like you just get out of the habit and after a while, it's a muscle that hurts to use. It takes effort, and energy, and it's easier not to. I can't believe I haven't blogged since December, but then again it's been a rough few months. Busy too. Roughy. Busough. Whatever.
So Italy happened. And about 3 wonderful weeks and 4 pounds later, we came home. Two days later we hosted a party at our house. There may have been way too many wrappers from Halloween candy in the trash. This may or may not have resulted in Mr. Bump hiding the Halloween candy from me. Not because he didn't want me to eat any, but because he didn't want me to eat IT ALL. Then when we recovered from that (but still not really recovered from having to come home from Italy--see Halloween candy consumption above), it was suddenly Thanksgiving. I ran a Turkey Trot 5K by myself in the freezing frigid Thanksgiving morning after having only run a few times since before Italy. I had to work the day after Thanksgiving, which is just about the suckiest day to have to work, I'd say. So sucky I promised my coworkers I'd make brownies as a salve. I needed some of that salve myself.
The very next weekend Mr. Bump and I flew out to San Diego to see some of our favorite people. It was wonderful and way too short, as always. And there was In-N-Out, as always.
Just as we got home from San Diego, I got sick. There's no better way to cap off a lovely long weekend than with a little mucus!
And before I could get well, my parents were in a car accident. Yeah, that happened.
The car was totaled, and my dad was ok but Mom got pretty banged up. She broke her wrist, some ribs, and sprained an ankle. I got the call from my brother as I was getting off the bus from work. I walked in the door, packed a bag, kissed Mr. Bump goodbye and drove to the hospital an hour north of Denver. I spent most of the following week doing my best to manage that situation, which was hard, and lonely, and scary. Mom's ok, really. But there's something about seeing your parents injured, and frail. It's so world-rocking, earth-shatteringly scary. I'm at my best when there's something I can do, so I just kept moving. Looking back on it now, I was moving away from dealing with how scary the whole thing was. As if I could dodge that thought by keeping busy. Cooking and freezing meals, cleaning, helping Mom shower and do her hair, making sure she had clothes she could easily pull on and off (broken ribs on one side, broken wrist on the other make it surprisingly hard to pull up your pants), trying to make my father feel a little less helpless. I remember some chocolate peanut caramels so good that I may have eaten a whole container of them. As I was inhaling them one after another, I knew I was binging. I knew I needed to step away. But I didn't. They were really good.
So that was December. December was spent driving back and forth to my parents house an hour away, baking somewhere around 10 dozen cookies for my World Famous Cookie Plates, working a full time job, and oh yeah, that thing called Christmas. That happened too. There may have been a total lack of even caring about what I was eating, coupled by the extravaganza of "once a year" treats that you have to eat because they won't be back for another 12 months, right?
January? What I remember about January at this point is that the jeans were too tight. And a lot of panic about that. And that sweet cycle of diligent dieting and failure binging. Swinging in and out of control like a trapeze artist.
This month I've been better. Less crazy. I'm trying to pull things back to center. Just slowly, carefully circling the calorie consumption, trying not to startle it. I see my willpower? self worth? diet-self?? is a quaking mess right now. Any sudden moves and it just goes nuts with the Reese's Peanut Butter Cup Hearts (Now 1/2 price!). I don't know if this makes any sense, but it's how I feel.
All this is the consumption side of the equation, which is the real struggle right now. I can run and run. I can cycle and elliptical and yoga. But I can't seem to keep the eating under control. Or even under 2,000 calories. Some days I can't keep it under 3,000! I'm feeling less panicked about my current weight (although the number hasn't really changed since we got back from Italy, one way or the other). Part of me really wants to be somewhere between 10-20 pounds lighter than I am right now. And part of me just says fuck it. There are no easy losses at this point. I have to work really hard for every pound. In 2010 I was more focused running than on weight loss, and it's pretty rough to try and train for a marathon (and I trained for 1 and 1/2 trained for another!) and try to lose weight.
But like all weight loss, no matter what your goals or your circumstances are, it's just easier not to do it. Straight up, that's it. It's easier not to. And the truth is, in 2010 I maintained a weight loss of 50 pounds in the previous year, and 100 pounds since 2004. In 2010 I ran a marathon. It would have been easier not to do that either.
I know I'm going to figure it out. It's always going to be about going back to the formula that works for me, I know this. It's always going to be counting calories, recording exercise, being accountable. It's always just the question of when I'm going to get back on track. It's easier not to do it today.
Hence the cagey circling of my diet-self. I'm trying to lull it into some sense of security before I jump it and hog tie it.
This post has gotten way too long, and it is barely funny. I'm going to try lighten things up around here.
I solemnly swear that my next post will be funny. Also it'll be All About Running...stay tuned!