2007-10-17
does a putt putt car go that far?
Huh, so the calorie counting thing does really work. Who would have thunk it? Even more so, who would think that after my short period of rebellion that I’d end up being cool with it. Sure, I may take a giant leap backwards now and then, but progress is finally being made.
I’m learning to respect the tummy and what it says. Oddly enough, mine is acting a lot like my friend’s who had the l@pb@nd done. It talks to me a lot more and a lot louder. Apparently some sort of translation skills have been learned so that the stomach talks and the brain gets the message and comprehends it. How bizarre it has been to actually feel sick and have my brain pipe up with “maybe it’s because you haven’t eaten anything in a few hours and you need a little something?”
Then if that wasn’t crazy enough, my stomach then tells my brain it’s good and my brain accepts it and relays the information in a way that causes me to stop eating.
Now I have my suspicions (alien inhabitation) but instead of over analyzing it and praying it continues, I’ll just look at this logically….
I’m eating less and I have been doing so for a week and a half. Reducing calories means reducing volume and my stomach has adjusted to this. I think by slowing down I’ve given my stomach time to communicate to my brain and being very aware of this means I’m getting the right signals.
It greatly helps that I have this watch thing strapped to my wrist and before eating something I do a check of where I am with my calories. “Is it worth it?” has become a common question and then a little less common because I already know the answer. I’m going out to dinner tonight and I have long ago scoured the menu and picked out my entrée. No pondering, no waffling on choices, I’m getting a chicken and vegetable dish. It’s a Mexican restaurant so yes, the idea of a chimichonga with guacamole would be tasty, but the way I’d feel afterwards isn’t a good trade off.
Stuffed.
Bloated.
Grease filled.
Uncomfortable.
Regretful.
If I am to be perfectly honest with myself, I enjoy the first taste, but after that I’m starting to notice things like the amount of grease I feel coating my mouth. That alone grosses me out. I really don’t like how I feel a few hours later either, as the food worms it’s way out my intestines. I’m so tired of feeling like I need a needle aspiration to clear the gas out of my bowels. Blah!
I’m going to the gym after work, so it’s not like I won’t have the calories in my budget, it’s just that’s not what I want for my body. I’m liking this losing weight thing. I like pulling my jeans on without feeling like I need a construction crew to help me push the fat in while I tug the button to the button hole. Extreme home makeover? Screw that, I’ve got extreme pants buttoning baby!
In the future I want the only tight jeans I wear to be ones that are tight because they are suppose to be and I look hot in them. I do not want them to be ones that cause me to toss the blame on the dryer and not on my own fat filled ass.
While I realize that my progress is going to be like a little putt putt car, I accept that. Mainly I accept that while it’s slow, it’s progress. Progress is the act of going forward and that is the direction I’m heading.
You know, until I take another left at another fucking unicorn.