Trying to fix the me on the inside too…

Meg’s post today got me thinking.

I think it’s almost impossible to grow up with parents who were weird about what food they let you eat (like mine) and not be sneaky about food. For example, Mr. E’s parents never gave a shit what he ate (and as far as I know he NEVER sneaks food, why would he?), while my parents were always watching what I ate, always checking up on me. I was very aware of what food was forbidden and I snuck it and I still do.

For me I think it has to do with a sense of shame, a sense of failure. At least now that I am a “grown up”, for me it’s not that I do or don’t deserve to eat certain things in other people’s minds, it’s that I have failed at following a strict diet plan. I have given in, I have fucked up. I was less than perfect, I ate cookies, and I don’t want anyone else to know.

I often make grandiose statements to Mr. E that I can’t keep (like “I’m not going to bake anymore” or “I’m not eating any more crap”) and then sometimes if he’s feeling brave he will call me on it when my intentions fade and I cave and make cookies or want to go to the store to get ice cream. And I don’t WANT to be called on it!

Really, it’s not his fault, I set myself up for failure when I say things out loud like “I’m not baking any more”. And I know he thinks he is trying to help me and that I want him to motivate me, but the reality is that I don’t. Or maybe the reality is that being called on something you know you shouldn’t do isn’t motivating?

For example last night I pretty much tried to hide the fact from Mr. E that I was going to make chocolate cookies. Why can’t I just say “Oh, ha, I know I said I wasn’t making any more cookies or eating any more crap and I know that I’m going to be mad at myself come Friday morning but right now I want to eat cookies more than I care about losing weight”.

I guess because then I would have admit out loud that I am being “bad”, that I am failing, that I am NOT in control, that I am not following the rules, that I am fucking up and that I care more about eating than I do about being thin, and that when I have gained weight on friday it’s my fault, and it’s because I couldn’t control myself, and it’s not some random blip on the scale, it’s because I fucked up.

Although it’s interesting that I am so concerned with justifying it. Is it a self fulfulling prophecy? Did I make Mr. E feel like he had to say something because I was being sneaky? Why couldn’t I just say “Hey, I’m craving cookies, and I have the points for them, I think I’ll make some?”

Meg has me pegged. I don’t believe I deserve treats. I think like a fat girl who deserves nothing more than to be castigated and punished, who can only have cookies if she justifies them or sneaks them, because everyone knows fat girls shouldn’t eat cookies. More self loathing.

In my mind I need to lose ten pounds, so I don’t deserve cookies, or anything really. When the reality is that I don’t actually need to lose ten pouunds to be healthy, it’s purely a personal thing at this point, and I could eat a cookie or two and it won’t make a damn bit of difference. I want to have to lose ten pounds so I have an excuse to hate myself. I want to have to lose ten pounds so I never deserve the cookie. I want to have to lose ten pounds so I never have a normal cookie eating experience. Because not having to lose weight and not having to castigate yourself for eating cookies and not feeling guilty and terrible about eating treats means only one thing. The thing that scares me more than anything in the world.

Gaining weight.


Please, eat cookies in front of me, have I mentioned how good this water is?

I was working on a long post all about how losing weight and being mini skinny and a diet nazi wasn’t going to get me what I wanted, wasn’t going to make me any happier, how I need to learn to love myself and to accept what I’ve been given and blah blah blah. And then I hurt my ankle and I gained three pounds in a week where I tried so hard not to eat too much that I sat at my desk and STARVED for hours every day and had to press on my stomach so that people didn’t hear my stomach growl and now I just feel hopeless. Like it was all for nothing. Now I just feel like my only choice is to not eat and to be unhealthy and I feel panicky and so afraid. I know that somehow there has to be a choice in between anorexia and marathon running but I’m having a hard time seeing it right now.
In the meantime, I’m hungry and my ankle hurts and honestly, I just want to lie in bed and cry. I can’t explain how I feel. It feels like failure.


Well, I insisted on running on my fucked up ankle last night, and now it’s more fucked up than ever. The reality of is that I’m just trying not to think about it because I don’t want to have realize how fucked up my priorities are. Because then I’d have to try to fix them, and I just don’t want to right now. They SHOULD be:

1. Love Myself no matter what
2. Don’t permanently fuck up my ankle
3. Run a half marathon
4. Don’t get fat

but they ARE:

1. Don’t get fat
2. Run a half marathon
3. Don’t permanently fuck up ankle.

You’ll notice love myself no matter what isn’t even on the real list. I know that’s not right, but I don’t want to fix it if it means I’ll gain weight. And I’m terrified of gaining weight but I’m just not in the fucking mood to freak out about this right now so for the next few days it’s going to be a contest of my iron will over food.

I never thought I would be saying this but the idea of not exercising every night has me freaking the fuck out. It’s my safety net. Without it I am lost. I am stressed out, crabby, and getting fatter by the minute (in my mind). I need my nightly run like I need a drug.

Bitchy Ankle

I could never be an elite runner, because I fucking hate icing shit. Right now I’m sitting at work with my space heater blasting on me and an ice bag rubber banded to my ankle at the same time. Having something icy and frozen attached to your sore ankle when you are already freezing your ass off bites. I hate being cold. I almost subscribed to Runner’s World once and then I read this article about some woman who had run over 200 marathons and took two ice baths a day and “didn’t even like hot baths anymore” and I almost started hyperventilating at the horribleness of it all and then Mr. E gently suggested that maybe one magazine a month (Martha Stewart Living) that drives me to panic attacks and tortured feelings of inadequacy was enough.

I refuse to be injured, I refuse. So far it’s going well for me, as you can tell.

Lessons Learned, Eleven Miles Later

1. My official night before run meal needs to be spaghetti and meatballs. Rice doesn’t work, bread doesn’t work. Mr. E can get all up in my mix with his science talk about how all carbs are the same blah blah blah, but spaghetti and chicken meatballs works better than anything else at giving me energy the next day.
2. After much experimentation, I’ve now set my official before run breakfast at half a Carrot Cake Clif Bar, oranges, yogurt, and oatmeal with brown sugar and coffee with sugar. As much of it as I can eat. (I had about half or 1/3 of my oatmeal, three orange slices, and half the yogurt).
3. I officially love my Camel bak. SO much better than carrying a water bottle. I love love love it. I’m mad at myself that I waited so long to get it. Best 29.95 I ever spent. And no shoulder aching! Yeah!
4. The extra one hundred calories for an extra Gu are so worth it (I used two total). When I get that weird “hmmm” in the back of my head, I need to eat my Gu RIGHT THEN, rather than waiting for a preset mile marker to go past. And don’t make fun of me, but something about running along eating a Gu makes me feel like SUCH AN OFFICIAL RUNNER! I am hard core, ya’all! I am eating energy gel cuz I am running so damn far!!! I am a loser, I know it. But when that voice in the back of your head says “You can barely run four miles! You’ll never be able to run ten miles” and then work and work and work and lo and behold, one day you run eleven miles, well, you feel like you achieved something incredible and pulled some sort of con, all at the same time. And somehow the Gu thing makes me feel more like a real runner and less like a poser. I feel…proud of me. That is a rare feeling.
5. I need to run on a smooth (non gravel surface). My hip joints did hurt this week, but not so bad I couldn’t keep going. The pea gravel I ran on last week is deadly.
6. If something doesn’t work right, even if other people swear by it, keep trying other options. My best friend swears by Wrightsocks to prevent blisters, and they just don’t work for me. However, the Asics Kayano Extreme socks recommended by Runner’s World are the bomb! 11 miles and no blisters. Usually I have blisters from four miles. Love love love these socks. They are expensive, but totally worth it. Also, just in general, I really really really like Asics products. I have an Asics long sleeved running shirt that wicks and is the softest thing ever, and I love it.
7. Number One Lesson Learned? I had a terrible 10 miles last week. My worst run, ever, practically. I got so freaked out and depressed and stressed out after it that I didn’t even want to blog about it or think about it. Now I’m 99.99% certain it was because I went out running too fast. It didn’t even occur to me, for some reason, that I was just running too fast, especially at the beginning of my run. Maybe I am out of practice at this because I do so much speed work during the week and so much of it is on the treadmill and I am used to trying to make myself go faster, but that’s not the point of the long run. Even if it were, I’m not a fast runner, esp since I’m so short, and the only way I can get through long runs, especially ones I do outside, is to remind myself every 30 seconds to slow down. Yesterday I had my IPOD but I was really running to a constant mental soundtrack that went “slow down, slow down, slow down”. And it was awesome. I had a great great run. I felt tired afterwards, but a good tired. Like I could have run 2 more miles. Like I could run a half marathon if I wanted to.

13 miles, I’ll see you in two weeks. Full of spaghetti and ready to kick ass.

So True, IMHO

My experience is there’s no way you can manufacture events and find the truth,” Ms. Karr says. “Great memoirs don’t take bizarre experiences and make them more bizarre and outrageous. They take bizarre experiences and make them familiar. That’s the power.”

Mocha Rewards

I’m having a really hard time focusing right now. I have ten pounds left to go. Part of me thinks maybe trying to lose weight while training for a half marathon is just too hard. Part of me is scared shitless that I’ll never be happy at any weight. Part of me is scared shitless that I’m still fat and I just don’t know it. And another part of just wants to be done with this and is terrified that I’ll be doing this stupid diet forever and also part of my is very very tired of being hungry and thinking about food all the time. And the final part of me worries that my boring boring job is making me fat because I just sit here all the time and think about how much I want a mocha with whipped cream from Starbucks. Mostly I know that I could be trying harder. I’ve been cheating a lot and bullshitting myself about it and I haven’t been counting points AT ALL.

I started ww two years ago on Valentine’s Day. Always good to start things on holidays, then you are more likely to remember them. I’d really like to be done, or damn near done, on February 14th of this year. Depending on the scale, and on any given day, that’s about eight pounds in five weeks. Which is totally doable, I think, if I can just get on a roll.

So my new goal is to not cheat, to not have any treats, to not have any extras I don’t count, and to count EVERYTHING, ALL DAY LONG. If I do this for one week, from today until next Tuesday, I can have my tall nonfat mocha with whipped cream.

The problem is I really want my mocha right now.

Am bitter.

However, so far it’s working. I have tracked every point today and I didn’t cheat by not tracking my stupid clementine like I usually do. What can I say, I am going to be a star at maintenance. However I just have to make sure I don’t think maintenance is easier than THIS because THIS IS MAINTENANCE. Clementines for a treat. How depressing is that?