Five Fucking Pounds

For fuck’s sake.  I gained five fucking pounds over one weekend.

Alright, let’s back it up a hot second.  If you’ve been following my blog at all, you’ll know that I’m a fat piece of shit and that I’ve been struggling with weight loss for far too long.  It’s a big-huge suck fest and I hate it.  I’ve also made a promise with myself that I won’t spend my 30’s fat.  I turn 30 in mid June.  It is now mid April.  I need to make some significant gains toward my goal in the next few months or I need to start saving for some kind of medical procedure, ’cause I’m not fuckin’ doin’ it.

To be fair, my efforts have actually been paying off for a few months now.  I’ll discuss it at length after I’ve reached my next goal, but right now I’d rather not say much about it.  I don’t want to do something that I’ve learned I hate others doing – bragging about shit they haven’t actually accomplished.  Don’t talk up how you’re starting a new diet, should graduate this year, are getting ready for a 5k, etc.  That wouldn’t be a problem if you’re the kind of person who always gets it done, especially if you get it done earlier.  I take that back, ’cause there are times when it still is a problem.  I hate hearing about your new workout routine or the last class you showed up to, every goddamn time we talk.  I get it, you’re trying to make conversation.  I’m down.  But if you’re just going to constantly repeat to me about how fucking amazing you are or how fucking pathetic you are every time we talk, it’s not a conversation.  It’s a swim in “Lake Me” for you, and I’m not looking to join you for a dip.  Start a blog.  That’s what I did.  Or join a blog.  That’s what my brother did.

But it is my blog and I’ll cry if I want to.  I’m gunna bitch a little and then give some insight to cover up my bitching.  Sounds good?  Great.

Last week’s diet was so-so.  This week has started off a little so-so as well.  The weekend was terrible.  You see, it was Easter weekend, preceded by a work-food-eatin’-shindig (unrelated, but whateve’s).  Up until last week, I’ve been doing pretty damned good with my diet.  And I say “diet” as in my day-to-day eating habits and not “diet” as in a structured meal plan or fad weight loss program.  I just mean that I’ve been good about not eating shitty and making sure I get the good stuff in me without all the bad stuff that usually goes with it.  Then the work shindig happened and I ate poorly.  I saw it as a meal off and that I’d eat healthy for breakfast and skimp on dinner – maybe some steamed greens or a green smoothie or something.  No big deal.  Breakfast was fine, sure, and dinner wasn’t terrible (though it also wasn’t greens).  Lunch at work was a disaster.  I must have had at least two sausages, two slices of fatty-chain pizza, four chicken wings (none naked, ’cause… why would anyone?), a tiny amount of fruit, and probably some other crap that I’m not remembering.

Friday’s breakfast and lunch were pretty healthy – oatmeal, fruit, greens.  Dinner was… not so healthy.  I had some company (yes, that kind) and we ordered Indian food.  One might think better of ordering such food for such a get together, but I would not.  I guess my order was so-so, considering that when I usually get Indian, it means a heavy main dish (like lamb vindaloo or crab malabar), the fattiest of breads, and at least two heavy apps or sides.  This time I got palak paneer (which I can normally continue my weight loss with), tandoori roti (the whole wheat alternative to naan), and instead of a greasy, fatty, carby sides I opted for the mulligatawny soup (lentils, bitches).  As skinny chicks tend to do, she got some kind of decent looking salad (which… why would you order that?) and soup BUT as pot-heads tend to do, she also got some super-fatty sides like pakora and samosa… which I would end up sharing.

Saturday wasn’t terrible.  I actually held off on the soup until Saturday morning, along with some of the bread from the night before.  Around noon I made some breakfast tacos.  Breakfast tacos for lunch?  That’s right, bitches, I don’t give a fuck what time of day it is, I live on the edge!  Breakfast “tacos” instead of breakfast “burritos”?  That’s also right, bitches, ’cause I like to mix it up and breakfast tacos are harder to turn into a fat-fest than big-bloaty-mission-style-burritos with eggs and chorizo and shit.  Don’t fuck wiff me!  Dinner was sensible with some mushrooms, quinoa, and kale.  Pretty good.  I’ll probably put that recipe into regular rotation.  And then there was Sunday.

Sunday was another disaster.  The previous day I had been asked to acquire some hot dogs for Easter as an extra.  Now, I know what’s you’re thinkin’ and no, we don’t eat hot dogs as a traditional Easter meal.  We’re weird.  We’re not trash.  We just thought we might need something extra, depending on how many people were going to show up.  Later that evening I was told that we didn’t need them.  I should have immediately tossed the damn things in the freezer and just brought them to the next cookout or event that I would be attending, but instead I decided that I’d just go ahead and have one for the next day’s breakfast.

Let me tell ya somethin’ – if you’ve been eating oatmeal and greens and lentils and shit for almost every meal and you start your day off with a hot dog, be prepared for a full day of unhealthy choices.  That hot dog didn’t satisfy me.  How the fuck could it possibly do so?  There isn’t any fiber or real substance there.  I’m convinced that this is why all of the famous hot dog serving styles (like a Chicago Dog) are piled high with crazy shit.  The hot dog is delicious, but I can woof one down in five seconds and be left with a fairly empty stomach.  Hot dog plus white bun = 280 calories and no real nutritional value (at least the brands I was eating).  Next thing I know, I’m in for two.  Now that’s 540 cals and none the more satisfied.  Instead of full, I was still hungry but also started to feel greasy.  Part of me wanted to go bulimic right there.  Another part of me thought to just finish the package and full head-long into full fatness.  The rest of me knew better.  Instead I just walked away, doing everything I could to keep from running back for a third.  The last time I had a hot dog it was a vegan dog.  Guess what?  Tasted great.  Yeah.  I know that has to sound insane, but it really was great.  Smart Dogs, the brand it is I eat, taste amazing, don’t make me feel greasy and shitty, and are about half the calories.  It’s also probably the only fake meat I’ve had so far that I found close enough to resembling the real thing that I can see myself permanently switching over.  Some day I’ll have to break down my feelings on the other fake meats and meat substitutes.  Some of them get close.  Most of them don’t.  Some of them reeeeeeeally suck.

With a belly of two greasy, dissastifying hot dogs I headed to my Mom’s house for lunch and some family fun.  If you read Monday’s post, you’ll know that I’m saying “family fun” unironically.  While there I immediately dug into some peanut M&M’s fun-sized Twix.  This is something that I just about never do.  Hell, I don’t even have much of a sweet tooth (which I’ve been actively trying to change for reasons that I’ll discuss another time), but given how the weekend had already gone, I fell back into an attitude that I’ve had far too many times. “Fuck it.  I’ve already fucked up this much, might as well eat everything.”

It’s a damned shame because the meal itself was actually pretty good.  Easter is usually time for a big-ass ham and shit-tons of sides, but on this occasion it was a healthy salad, some fresh steamed green beans, and perfectly grilled chicken.  All of which are healthy and were easy to control the portions of.  But that didn’t stop me from eating cupcakes and even more candy following the nearly-health-perfected meal.

It also didn’t stop me from eating more of those greasy hot dogs for dinner that evening.

So here’s what I’ve learned.  This experience has reinforced that it’s easier to gain weight than to lose it.  When you stick to the plan it works, when you deviate it fails.  When you deviate just a little bit and just once in a blue moon, it’s not a big deal.  But when you deviate for a whole weekend, you’ve totally fucked yourself.  Don’t let dinner with family or friends fuck up your diet, and don’t let the steamroller effect catch you.  Smart Dogs are great, normal hot dogs are also great but make me feel like shit.  In the equation of diet + exercise = weight loss, the diet variable is the more important factor (at least in my life).

tl;dr – I over ate on purpose and learned some shit that I already knew, but now with a personal trial behind it.

And now I have to strip that extra five back off and get back the fuck on track on the soon, ’cause 30 is coming so soon and FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!