This morning, I stormed into my co-worker's office, flung myself into the chair across from his and declared "That's it! I'm either going for a stiff drink or a DQ Blizzard!"
He pointed a stern finger at me. "You are not going for a Blizzard!"
Apparently being drunk at work is better than destroying my diet (seriously - just check the calorie count on Blizzards sometime).
I've managed to get a lot of my bad habits under control, but I do still struggle quite a bit with the emotional side of eating. I still go to extremes - I either lose my appetite completely, or want to eat myself stupid. I didn't go for my Blizzard today (or my stiff drink), but I did inexplicably end up ordering a cinnamon roll with my lunchtime coffee.
Bad choice. But as I have to remind myself, one bad choice did not get me to 240 lbs. It was days of weeks of months of bad choices that I failed to acknowledge were bad choices.
And believe me, as I was doing my speedwork tonight, I was reminded over and over what a bad choice that cinnamon roll was. Not good running fuel, as it turns out.
This is my first full week Shawn-free (I just made him sound like an infestation - go me! He'd love that). Lo and behold, the world did not explode. I did not descend into the fiery depths of diet disaster-land. Okay, it wasn't completely Shawn-free. We still email. We chat at the club. I have his program to guide me and the subsequent pain in my ass to remind me of him all the time (I'm so glad he doesn't read this...)
I miss the idea of having a trainer. It's like we were this little special group of members, those ones who worked with the trainers. We'd commiserate in the change rooms after our sessions, secretly proud of the fact that we were sweating harder. During sessions, when sharing a mat or workout space, we'd joke about what expletives worked best to get through the last few reps or what "special" names we had for our trainer. It was like being initiated into a secret club the first time another member leaned over while both our trainers were killing us on the rowing machines and said "You're allowed to call him names. It helps, really."
It also breaks the tedium of working alone. I have lots of acquaintances at the gym, but no friends, and so I work out alone. For my last two workouts, my
brand-new MP3 player has refused to work (I'm thrilled, can't you tell?). My sessions with Shawn gave me someone to chat with and were a nice break to working out by myself.
But, I can do this by myself. That's nice to know.
Got through my speedwork tonight (3.6 miles/75 minute workout on the Go-Chica-Go Challenge too!). Up to 10.5 mph at my max, though I could only hold it for about 30 seconds. Of course, that was at the very end of my session, so not sure how long I could hold it if my legs were fresh. I am going to ask Shawn whether I should be pushing for longer times or faster speeds, since there's such possibility there. It's a high, running that fast. And apparently frightening to onlookers. An old classmate from high school came in while I was running at 10.0 mph, and told me later, "You were running very fast. I was scared you were going to fall."
Thanks for the vote of confidence.
Okay, I'm sure I had more to write tonight, but I've forgotten it. This is always the downfall to writing late at night. So, I'll save it for tomorrow.
TGIF all!!
Oh, and before I forget:
One of my biggest worries in leaving Shawn's tutelage has been that my motivation will falter without the impending fear of another assessment looming over me (I'm realizing now we never did the last assessment he wanted to do... either he forgot or took pity on me and "forgot").
