Last Friday (3/13) started one of the most craptastic weekends I have ever had. We had to put our beloved dog Sam to sleep and for anyone who has ever lost a furry family member, I don't have to tell you how extremely sad, difficult, and life altering the experience is. Especially when those furry creatures are the only children you have.
It was a weekend for tears, reminiscing, and bonding with my husband and our two canine babies that remain. As the days pass, we are crying much less, but there is still a large hole in our hearts since Sam has crossed the Rainbow Bridge.
Depression can fuel an onslaught of bad eating. Thankfully, I didn't entirely jump ship, but I wouldn't exactly admit sticking to plan either. Let's recap, shall we? Pizza on Friday, and again on Tuesday. Steak, pierogies, french onion soup with slices of french baguette and lots of melted gooey swiss cheese. Toast and granola. Too many carbs and too much fat. All in one week. Not exactly what you'd call a clean-eating menu, right? The less than stellar eating sort of dragged itself into this weekend as well. It's been a full week of just feeling really "lost" as far as my diet is concerned.
I even had ice cream. Twice. It hurts just to type that admission.
The silver lining to all of this is that despite the cruddy chow-fest that was happening 'round these parts, I still managed to lose a pound last week. Because I was so upset last Friday, I never got a chance to post about my 3 pound loss the week before (with Flo hanging around and all!), so in two weeks, 4 pounds disappeared. And that? Is nothing short of a miracle. Amen.
In other news, I attended the vinyasa flow yoga class again this past week. Why I thought we'd be doing the same routine as last week, I have no idea. What I DO know is that this week was even harder than the first time - so it's safe to say, I'm no yoga guru yet. I'm actually surprised by how much I enjoy something I find relatively difficult. Usually, I want to run from things that present too much of a challenge, physical or otherwise, but this yoga thing has me inspired. Even when I'm doing downward dog and being suffocated by my own boobs. True story.
Honestly, I'm not sure I'm even doing this yoga thing right. I know the idea is to focus on breathing (something that is hard to do when your heaving bosom is cutting off your air supply), and flow from pose to pose - ideally, as gracefully as possible. Well, hell. I am about as far from graceful's doorstep as one person can get. I find myself having to adjust my positioning several times just to place myself into the "correct" position. There isn't a whole lotta "flow" happening on my mat, unless you're referring to the beads of sweat dripping from my face onto the floor in front of me. Who knew I'd sweat this much moving this slowly?
I often have to suppress laughter during these sessions. And I'm just taking a stab here, but I'm pretty sure laughing while yoga-ing, is a yoga no-no. At least that's what the tranquil background music suggests. My inclination to crack up most likely stems from my own insecurities, but I can't help myself. I imagine I must look pretty damn ridiculous trying to contort myself from one pose to another. Getting into some of the poses feels a bit unnatural. And if they feel unnatural, I can only assume they look just as, well...you know - unnatural. Child pose is supposed to be an easy resting pose that you can come back to if you need a break. I actually don't find child pose comfortable at all, especially when we first begin (probably because I am as flexible as a steel beam) so when Erin, our instructor, said I should feel free to go back to child pose at anytime, I wanted to snort-laugh and say, "Why the hell would I want to do that?" Again, it may have something to do with my boobs getting all up in my throat and choking the crap out of me. I wear a sports bra, but really, those things can do only so much to keep my girls in check. Those bad mamajammas have a mind of their own.
Another chuckle-worthy moment occurred when Erin asked us to attempt the crow pose. For you yoga virgins, the crow pose looks like this:
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| Instructor says, "Crow pose" and I says, "Hell nos" |
I believe I turned to my friend Margaret and mouthed the words, "Holy Shit!" before simply crouching down into what I personally like to call "frog pose" and admitting defeat. Ribbit.
Still, I left that yoga session feeling good. I did what I could and know that with time I will get better and really, that is all I can ask of myself. I'll be back at it again this Wednesday. God willing.
So, with the new week ahead of me, I have to, have to, HAVE TO get back on track with my eating plan. I think after last week's indulgences (and yes, this weekend's as well) I'm feeling pretty darn guilty and am afraid that if I don't take back the reigns, like this very second, this could be one of those spiraling out of control situations. I was feeling so good, but it is amazing how a bad streak can shake a person. Ultimately, I know that it is up to me whether or not I let that happen.
I choose not to.
I have a menu full of healthy meals on tap for the week. I have some plans for exercise as well. Fingers crossed we've seen the last of the snow and the weather will be more conducive to getting outside and moving my butt beyond the one day of yoga. The desire is still strong to keep the scale moving in the downward direction, even if my actions last week didn't show it.
Anyway, no sense in looking in the rearview mirror. That gets me nowhere. Moving forward. That's what it's all about.
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