If I were Batman, Weekends would by my Bane. If I were Superman weekends would be my Kryptonite. If I were Daryl Dixon weekends would be my Zombies. If I was Nancy Botwin weekends would be my DEA. You get the point right? Weekends for me are notoriously bad. Not because of what happens on them, and not because I do not enjoy them but because they lack structure. I never drink as much water as I should, I don’t get as much exercise as I should and my food goes poof out the window for the most part because of reasons I really don’t understand.
Well that’s a lie, I do understand. I spend weekends away from my own kitchen. I don’t cook therefore I eat what is cooked for me and if you don’t know how it was cooked, or you do not want to be rude you eat it and put little thought into it. At least that is what I do. I really do try to be better on weekends, and I try to eat less, but I rarely track on weekends. By rarely track I mean never track.
I know my carb counts are high, my water counts are low but most of all my sweet counts, my chip counts and my everything I normally stay away from during the weeks sky rockets. I do not live in a world where anything is “bad” I eat things I know most people would look at and be like “fatty put that shit away” but I refuse to live in a world where chocolate is off limits and dessert is a sin. That is a world where the communists win, and I will not be a part of it. I do know however; that just because the options are there I can have a small amount and not go over board. That is until that spoonful of whatever I am eating hits my taste buds and I dive head first into the dish. Logically it sounds really easy, however; for some reason my brain just says “it’s the weekend, have fun you can fix this next week.” Which leads me into the gain the weight I lost during the week on the weekend and then be stuck in the never ending cycle of ups and downs, while the scale reflects the same numbers over and over until I get sick of it and quit.
This time I resolved to not do that. On paper and in my head it looks super simple but in practice my brain keeps saying “one more won’t hurt you” and the truth is if I was a normal human being one more might not hurt me but I am not normal and one more leads to two more leads to me swimming in whatever it is I am eating and then going “what is this? Where am I? What am I doing?”
This weekend was different, not by much but it was better. I ate a little bit of everything, I enjoyed my visit with my elderly grandmother and I enjoyed all the food she prepared for me. I didn’t drink as much water as I should have and I really didn’t do any exercise but when I stepped on the scale it only reflected a 0.4 gain which means, I did something semi-right. It means that maybe this time around I am prepared for changes – small at first and then maybe larger as I go.
Most of all thought it means that maybe this time Bane won’t break Batman’s back, the Kryptonite won’t render Superman completely useless, the zombies will no longer be a threat to humanity and I won’t end up being a prisoner in my own body because I was a little weak towards an excess amount of food.