I never thought I'd finding myself wishing I could keep a bellyache in a bottle, but this weekend, I gave myself a torrent of tummy trouble that could be genuinely valuable in capsule form--a pill that brings on discomfort just long enough to convince myself that I really DON'T want to eat whatever it is I'm considering eating.
It all started Friday night when I took the kids to Wendy's for their traditional chicken nuggets, mandarin oranges, and chocolate milk. As has become my tradition, I had decided on a meal before ever walking through the doors of the restaurant. I was going to have a Bacon and Bleu Burger and a Diet Coke. The burger was an indulgence, but do-able for a Friday--especially since I hadn't used any of my flex points for the week.
Then, as poor karma would have it, an extra small fry made its way into our order, and so the rationalizing began. I was craving salt, and after snitching a couple of the kids' fries, I dutifully marched myself over to the nutrional information posted on the wall. By the time I returned to the table, I had talked myself into an additional seven points for the small fry. This liberty only took me three points into the flex points zone for the day. Not too shabby.
If it had ended there, I really wouldn't have been in bad shape; but later that night, I sat down to second supper with some friends who had watched my kids while I got a haircut. When I got home, I fixed supper for my husband, and standing in the light of the open refrigerator, I was struck with the plight of a poor chicken sausage. Immediately, I thought how much improved the situation of the chicken sausage would be by the presence of ketchup and a bun.
Thirty minutes later, I had done my good sausage deed for the week and elevated myself to lonely food saint by doing similar favors for a Mini Snickers and a Reese's Peanut Butter Egg. When I went to bed, I felt exactly how I deserved to feel--overstuffed. No more splurging for me. No sir. Seventeen of my flex points were gone, and I wasn't using any more.
One would think that the minor indigestion I experienced on Saturday morning would have kept me in line, but nooooo. When the kids and I headed out to Downtown Greenville for an outing with friends, they suggested that we finish our walk with an ice cream cone. Immediately pushing past misgivings that no doubt, had something to do with the fact that I had absolutely no idea how many points were in a single scoop, AND a mix-in, AND a waffle cone; I cooly remarked that I would just use my remaining flex points to cover the damage.
What followed reminds me of a portion of scripture in which an angel instructs the apostle John to ingest a book that would be sweet like honey to the taste, but bitter to the belly. Yes indeed, that Swiss Chocolate Butter Cream Waffle Cone with Reese's and Nestle Crunch Mix-ins was like honey on the tongue, but at nine o'clock that night, I still felt like I had a bicycle pump attached to my stomach.
The next day, I continued to develop a whole new respect for the bellyache. When I walked into Sunday School and found that doughnuts were in attendance near the coffee pot, I was not even tempted. At lunch, I resorted to pure ruffage, hoping to keep the bellyache at bay; and at dinner, wild horses could not have shoved the usual hot dog down my throat.
So yes, oddly enough, I AM wishing I could incapsulate this weekend's bellyache, so that everytime I think I REALLY want to throw points to the wind and eat like I used to three meals a day, seven days a week--I can experience just enough of the consequences, to return to choices that I know are GOOD for me.
Those GOOD choices are the ones that resulted in today's weigh-in of 179.2 pounds. Therefore, on the wings of success I sail into the next 17 weeks of the journey to my skinny jeans. This week, I'm starting back at the beginning with my multi-vitamin, which truth be told, I have slacked on a little. I am also comitted to walking 4 to 5 times a week with a friend, so as to prepare for a 5k walking race sometime before the end of July.
And no. My 5k race will not conclude at the ice cream shop.