"I can almost see it/That dream I am dreaming/But there's a voice in my head saying/You'll never reach it." --Miley Cyrus, "The Climb"
"Oh you can tell my eyes to watch out for my mind/It might be walking out on me today." --Billy Rae Cyrus, "Achy, Breaky Heart"
You know, as an opening aside, child of the Eighties I am, I NEVER EVER expected any child of "Achy Breaky Heart" artist Billy Rae Cyrus was going to explode into a gazillionaire the way she has. I mean, good for her, and all, but...whoah!
Last week just sucked. Every single day, from Monday through Sunday. Work got complicated...not every case, but many of them. I woke up Monday in sheer agony from a tooth infection that apparently may involve a root that escaped a root canal done...wait for it...years ago. Talk about infected! By Tuesday I was full-blown sick again (never mind that I'd been sick with bronchitis only a short time before) and by Saturday and Sunday I was running a fever between 100 and 101 degrees. Nearly anything that could go wrong, did. Yep, it was one of those weeks.
Forget exercising.
Forget eating great.
Forget vitamins, minerals and herbal regimen.
Forget sleep.
So, obviously, I'm still at 160 pounds and at a deficit today in terms of strength and health. I do applaud myself for not falling off the wagon and going back to Coffee Coolattas at Dunkin Donuts (can you say 1,000 calories for the large I normally would drink?) or soda of any kind. I can also pat myself on the back in terms of sticking to wheat pastas and bread, and I have to say, I did eat some vegetables and fruit. Not much.
But what stunk was that sack of Wise Honey Barbecue chips...because they're normally not even in my house, much less in my stomach. But hello, I picked up a bag and promptly emptied it, like the food addict I am. Worse yet, I ate McDonald's.
Oh, yes, things were bad!
I mean, my marriage is great, my family's health is good. I have to count my blessings. But I haven't had McDonald's in a dog's age and yet, there I was, driving my ashamed self through the driveway last week, picking up my bag of food whose bottom was already thoroughly grease-stained by the time I completed the 5 minute drive home.
I can only imagine my arteries.
Oh, Chicken McNuggets and fries tasted pretty nifty. I actually missed them.
But what I didn't miss was the gross, icky, nasty feeling I got after I had eaten them all and, hmmm, like an hour passed by. An entire vat of Tums would never have fixed my sad digestive tract from the caloric trainwreck it had experienced.
I have no choice but to look back on last week and say it was just a lost cause and press on. As in, onward and upward. I mean, well, I have a choice but that other choice would involve giving up and running out to the grocery store to stock up on crap. It's infinitely easier to throw in the towel and just be content to tell everyone filthy lies--you know, my hormones make me fat, my lazy thyroid makes me fat, I have special fat chromesomes that were genetically passed down to me. That kind of cop-out nonsense.
Nope. I'll call a spade a spade and say I was a loser caught up in a tidal wave of nonsense, that led to me giving in and eating like a pig on parade. I blame me. The good news is, all the power lies with me, and I plan on praising little old me next week.
As Miley Cyrus would say: "Keep on moving/Keep climbing/Keep the faith baby/It's all about the climb."
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