For the past week, I’ve been walking around with aching muscles. I’ve been packing things like crunchy granola bars and fresh fruit to eat at work.
I’ve been working out, even though on one occasion the 5 year old had to shame me into it.
I have drastically scaled down my junk food snacking, depending on not just my gummy vitamin D’s, but gummy fish oil and gummy probiotics to pick up the slack.
Today…. Sammy and Jenna wanted pizza for dinner, he missed pizza day at school this week.
I ordered it…
then I worked out while I starved and watched them stuffing the greasy cheese pizza into their faces (with sides of fresh fruit and veggies). I did two workouts.
I then piled a plate with salad, got a glass of water, and ONE piece of pizza.
Normally I would have downed 2 or 3 pieces, NOT worked out, and chewed the pizza with mouthfuls of sprite or iced tea squishing together in blissful harmony before swallowing. I don’t drink much soda, but I find with pizza, it is the drink of choice for me. I love the interaction between carbonation and greasy crust…. fizzy, squishy, greasy goodness.
I did have a fleeting moment of what might have been real motivation to improve my lifestyle and health last week, but it didn’t last beyond a 30 second sense of supreme optimism.
I have since gotten very familiar with this feeling of…Meh. Basically mad at pizza for being bad for me, mad at chocolate for making me want it, mad at myself for being mad about wanting to be healthy, and forcing myself to do it anyway. I’m so MEAN.
I can’t wait until I’m 72. I’ve decided that is the age I will decide enough of this crap, and enjoy ho-ho’s and peppermint patties all day long if I want.