Is THIS Bliss?!

Lorina's Blog

Food Guilt

“I had a piece of _____, and now I feel so guilty.” Fill in the blank with cake, pizza, bread, pie, candy, etc. Usually a carb of some form. I hear people, mostly women, say this all the time, and I just don’t get it.

Guilt has a place in our lives. If we do something really bad, we should feel bad about it.

Killing someone is really bad. Lying, cheating, scheming, scamming, swindling, stealing, hurting, back stabbing, front stabbing, even coveting thy neighbor’s ass. Bad.

Pizza is not really bad. Even if it’s thick crust with extra cheese and pepperoni. It’s just a handful of calories, some carbs, protein and fats, that will be digested and pooped out in a matter of hours. It does no lasting damage.

You know what causes lasting damage? Guilt. Feel guilty enough about unimportant crap like a slice of pizza and you’ll get an ulcer. Then you’ll feel guilty because you hurt yourself by feeling guilty, and your ulcer will get an ulcer. Then you’ll feel bad about that, too. Not to mention that the tomato sauce on the pizza will aggravate your ulcer and your ulcer’s ulcer. So it’s best to not get one in the first place.

You know before you eat something if you’re going to regret it. If you’re going to feel bad about it, don’t eat it! If you’re eating because of stress or sadness, don’t eat it! A brisk walk around the block will serve you better. Get some fresh air. Get a sweat going. Get your heart rate pumping. Endorphins are your friends.

If you’re going to eat it, enjoy it. Only eat it if you’re going to thoroughly and completely enjoy it. Immerse yourself in the moment. Enjoy every bite, every drop, every crumb. Lick your lips afterwards, close your eyes, lean your head back, kick off your shoes, and wiggle your toes.

If you eat something and do happen to regret it, consider it a lesson learned. Don’t do it again. Simple as that. It’s not a failure, just a learning experience. Hopefully a delicious learning experience. Certainly not something to feel guilty about.

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Scales, Roadblocks and Detours

Everybody lies. That’s what Dr. House always says. And the scale is no exception. We’re all so wrapped up in losing weight, gaining weight, what we weigh, what he weighs, what she weighs… and the scale is not a great judge of health.

I’m not saying it’s meaningless. It can be a good baseline. And I’d be a hypocrite if I said that I didn’t enjoy seeing that number drop on the scale. If someone asks me how much I lost, I’m happy to report, “Thirty-one and a half pounds!”

But one can get obsessed with the scale. It’s not a good idea to think of the scale as a friend. It can be a back-stabbing bitch.

I weighed 6.5 pounds more yesterday morning than I did Saturday morning. Granted, I ate and drank and drank and ate with abandon, didn’t exercise that day, and didn’t get any sleep. But I did NOT gain 6.5 pounds.

It takes 3,500 calories to gain or lose a pound. 3,500 calories more than your body needs to gain. 3,500 less than your body needs to lose. If I really gained 6.5 pounds overnight, I’d have to have eaten nearly 25,000 calories. That’s about the equivalent of 50 McDonald’s Quarter Pounder with Cheese. I’m pretty sure I’d have been a lot more sick yesterday if I’d really consumed that much.

A huge jump in the scale like that is not weight gain. It’s fluid retention from too much sodium, too much alcohol and not enough sleep. And it will be gone in a few days. Two pounds of it are gone already. I didn’t do enough damage to gain that weight, and I certainly didn’t do enough positive yesterday to lose two pounds.

I always say that the reasons diets fail is purely psychological. Someone can be doing everything right, then have one day where they binge a little, then see a big leap on the scale. It’s a temporary gain, but that person will think, “I blew it. I’m a failure. I can’t do anything right.”

Life throws a lot of obstacles are way. Sometimes they’re in the form of closed roads, sometimes they’re jello shots and potato chips. Either way, you just have to look at it as a detour.

If you were driving to the beach, and you missed a turn, took the wrong exit, or came upon a closed road, you wouldn’t say, “Screw this. I’m going home.” You’d check your map or GPS, maybe pull into a gas station and ask for directions if you’re not a guy, but you’d know you were well on your way, and a little detour is only going to make a slight difference in your arrival time. You’ll get to your destination. Just maybe a few hours later. You’re not going to toss away your weeks of planning, your hours of packing, the hours of driving you’ve already put in, just because the New Jersey turnpike is a cluster-f-word.

A fluctuation on the scale, whether it’s a temporary blip or a three week bender, is no different. You’re well on your way, and it doesn’t matter one hill of seven layer bean dip with tortilla chips if you’re going to get to your destination a few days later than anticipated. In fact, sometime you have the most memorable times getting lost a little on the way.

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How can I be so tired, and still awake? It’s been more than twenty-four hours now. Twenty-four busy hours. Okay, not all of them were busy, but at this time yesterday, I was up, had breakfast, fed the cats, fed the dog, fed myself, and was getting ready to zip to the store to get a pack of diapers for my niece’s baby shower, and some brown packing paper to finish framing the gift I painted for the baby. When I got home from the store, I glued the paper to the back of the frame – gotta make it look all professional, you know – wrapped the presents, and cooked two batches of brownies. One to take to the shower, one to take to another party in the evening. Then realized I had about one hour before the shower started, and still had to dye my roots.

Rush, rush, rush, rush, rush. Washed that grey right outta my hair, showered, shaved, sweated like a whore in church, somehow managed to make make-up stick to my drippy wet face. Hit every. single. red. light. between here and the shower, still sweating, and cursing a stream of profanities that would have made George Carlin give me a high five. Did you know you can make entire sentences using pretty much just the f-word?

The shower was wonderful. Ate lots of food. Won lots of prizes. Surrounded by the people I love.

The next few hours, not so busy. Soaked in my itty bitty pool, which is a little green and was kind of like a leaf and dead bug soup until I did a lot of scooping and skimming, for a few hours reading a Sookie Stackhouse book.

Then a fantastic party at a friend’s house, which involved entirely too many cherry bombs, jello shots and alcohol infused whipped cream. And swimming in my underpants. At about two in the morning.

We got home around four, and I was blitzed. Went straight to bed. And laid there. Wide awake. So I read some more from my vampire book until I nodded off, then I’d click off the lamp and lay there. Wide awake. That went on for a few hours. Around seven am, I came downstairs. Couldn’t sleep upstairs. Either Fritz would snort, or a cat would walk on me, or I’d feel a grumble in my belly and wonder, “Is that a fart? I’m not sure. Better not take the chance.”

I wish we had an upstairs bathroom. But no. Just one. Downstairs. Far enough away from the bedroom to make emergency dashes dangerous.

I tried to sleep on the couch. Finished that vampire book and started on the next in the series. I’d start to nod off, then the dog would snort, or another cat would walk on me, or I’d feel a grumble in my belly and wonder again, “Is that a fart? I’m not sure. Better not take the chance.”

I don’t know how I could be so tired, and still so wide awake. I even took a Benadryl. I even start dreaming… I see images and hear noises before I’m fully asleep, then the tiniest noise wakes me up again. And seeing how I live on such a busy intersection that I didn’t even notice the earthquake, I’d say those tiny and not so tiny noises are going to continue.

My niece got a stuffed animal at the baby shower that made soothing white noise, like ocean waves. Maybe that’s what I need. Or maybe I need to stop looking at the white computer screen and go back into the dark bedroom.

Cover me. I’m going back in.

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