I fell of the wagon. HARD.
Diet and exercise? Pshaw! Who needs it?!
I do. Apparently.
It all started with our child-free week. I skipped my personal training on Monday because I didn't want to get up early. Strike One.
Tuesday and Wednesday, I didn't exercise at all. Strike Two.
But yet, on Wednesday, I actually fit into a pair of jeans that were previously MUCH too small. (Like not even fitting over my hips small.) And cockily Facebooked about it.
Thursday, I again did no exercise. Wheeee! Lookit me! I can now fit into my skinny pants! I RULE!
Friday morning, I cancelled on my trainer for the second time that week. By Friday evening, I was mad at myself for being such a lazy ass. (I had no children at home! I had no excuses!) (Except, really, I did-- I truly wanted to get stuff done around the Trenches. So I did manage to clean the boyz' bedrooms and put away their winter clothing.) (Small victory, that.)
As a punishment to myself, I ran at the track on Friday night. Trust me, running 3 miles around a boring track feels like at least 6 road miles. It sucked.
And then I went home and ate a massive bowl of clam chowder and drank 2 beers while I waited for Hubby to bring the boyz home from Connecticut.
Self-sabotage, thy name is Sarah.
Coco Key. I could do it. I could turn my bad week around, right?
Except I didn't.
The entire weekend consisted of junk food, pizza, Easter candy, and fun drinks (pina coladas and daiquiris. I not only ate my calories, I frigging drank them. Who am I??
I felt bloated and gross all weekend. And a little cranky too. Falling off the wagon wasn't even feeling good. Probably because guilt just tastes gross.
By the time we got back to the Trenches early evening on Sunday, I was miserable. Uncomfortable in my own skin. Impatient with the boyz and Hubby. Feeling sorry for myself that everyone else was with their families enjoying Easter ham. I wanted ham too, dammit!
Hubby could definitely sense my unease and tried to get me out of my head and back down to Planet Earth. We sat together as a family and watched the VCR tapes (Hi 1999, how you doin'?) of our rehearsal dinner and wedding. It was a sweet moment, probably the best of the entire weekend.
And then? I put myself to bed. At 8pm.
This morning at 5am I had to face the music. Back to Trainer Sarah. Back on the scale. And back up 4 POUNDS.
So here I am. Feeling defeated, but resolute. I can't look back. Only forward. I know what I need to do. The problem is in the execution of it. Especially when leftover Easter candy in the form of M&Ms is involved.
I probably don't just need a personal trainer, but a therapist as well.
To figure out why I sabotage myself. To figure out why I justify it at the time I'm doing it. (I liken it to having a skinny angel on one shoulder and a fat devil on the other shoulder. That fat bastard bodyslams that poor skinny angel and wins just about every time.)
And most importantly, to figure out how to stop myself from myself.
Oh please tell me I'm not the only one with this struggle.
I can only wish that were me.