You’re welcome, Shari, but as you and many of my readers know, I don’t always practice what I preach. Good advice I dole out to friends doesn’t always get through my own dense thinking.
Over at Refuse To Regain, I wrote in my last blog about how my knee (which subsequently turned into “knees”) went out and I was unable to work out like I wanted to so I could have a little extra T-day food. When I wrote the blog on Tuesday, I really thought I’d wrapped my head around it and accepted that I’d need to be careful with my choices on Friday (we had a delayed T-day this year) since I didn’t have the buffer of a huge cardio workout.
On Thanksgiving Day, first daughter and I cooked for six hours and I didn’t pick or taste test anything except the new cranberry sauce recipe I tried (which was fabulous by the way – click here to see it). I patted myself on the back, solidly convinced that since I cooked the meal without being tempted, I’d be just dandy the next day when we bought it all down to second daughter’s house to eat it.
What derailed me was the scale. (*Insert big eye roll and sigh*) I stepped on it while getting ready to go to second daughter’s house and wouldn’t you know it? I was up a few pounds. After posting a rant to my online maintenance group about it, I thought I would just move on, let it go, deep breath, all that s*it.
But that scale number sat there in the back of my head all day, gnawing at my good sense and sanity. I kept thinking, ‘What happened to what I wrote on RTR?’: “I forget that I really do know what I’m doing. Pilots are trained to fly in inclement weather. I, too, have been trained to maintain when these physically turbulent times arise. I just need to trust myself, continue to fight, and utilize the tools I’ve honed over the last four years. Yeah, so, I gain two pounds. Doesn’t mean I’ll gain 170.”
What happened was that I didn’t fully embrace my own words. I still, after nearly two years in maintenance, don’t fully trust that I know what I’m doing or that I won’t throw it all away in some mad potato/stuffing/pumpkin pie craving and dive head first into each one as they pass from the person on my left to the person on my right.
*Insert additional eye roll*
As we played The Game of Life (a T-day tradition), I ate a few baked pita chips and salsa and sampled the artichoke dip (as I had planned). I drank a glass of wine, picked up G-baby Claire at least 20 times because she wanted up (I can never say no) and made the green beans and checked the meal warming in the oven. But still, that ever-nagging, “Why me? Why can’t I eat all the potatoes and stuffing I want? Why? Why? Why?” wouldn’t go away. Finally, I retreated to the bathroom and got all mom on myself. While I can’t say no to G-baby Claire, Child Lynn had to be told to suck it up. She had to hear, “Because I said so.”
Parent Lynn compromised with Child Lynn and allowed her to have a taste of the stuffing and the potatoes. Not a face-full, but a taste. And a taste sufficed. In fact, a taste made me remember why I don’t eat “party” potatoes or stuffing (the real stuff. The kids banned “diet” stuffing this year). Rather than eating more than a taste, I had a few extra string beans with almonds and another bite or two of sweet potatoes and Child Lynn was really happy.
Today, I am back to clean eating and (mostly) clean thinking. I stepped on the scale (sorry, Sondra, I just had to) and I was down a pound, which made me realize that other factors beside food and no exercise contribute to the scale number (like water retention in my melon-sized knees, maybe?) and that I do, probably, know what I’m doing. Wait. Scratch that. I don’t actually “know” what I’m doing all the time. Weight-maintenance Nirvana will take a little longer, I’m afraid. But I trust the learning process. I (almost) trust myself.