This? This is what I had for dinner on New Year's Eve. That is a chicken cordon bleu sandwich, a beef and cheddar sandwich, a medium curly fry, a small order of mozzarella sticks, and a medium chocolate shake. Know how many calories that is? Yeah, I don't want to know either.
Of course, it's also what I had for lunch that day. Not that I ate that much twice in one day or anything; I just never got the time to have any lunch that day. I had two halves of a pastry for breakfast, about a zillion diet sodas (gotta watch my figure, you know), and then one single bite of a chocolate croissant. So, fortunately for me, although the quality of calories that day was deeply in the toilet (in more ways than one, I'm sure), I probably was under my calorie goal for the day.
It took about a week for all that toxic fat and stuff to get out of my system. I have zero desire to eat like that right now.
Well, except for sausage mcmuffins with egg. Special situation for the sausage mcmuffins with egg. Actually, there always seem to be special rules for breakfast in general. Like the morning calories are cancelled out by the rest of the day. At least that's my story. I'm sticking to it.
But then I look at the side view:
I'm kind of twisted to the side so it's not completely accurate, but can you see all that Arby's sitting in my gut there? And can you see how that ferret has migrated to my back? Yep, no more fast food binges for me. I hope.
Oh, and that's CBS dog's butt in the picture. Her weight is pretty good, even with the french fries she gets.
I made it to the gym again this morning and did my three miles. In case you're wondering why it keeps being 3.01 miles, apparently it takes me 0.01 mile to stop my Nike+. The first mile went great, then I stopped to walk a couple of laps because, like a doofus, I had left my water bottle in the car and needed to catch my breath and imagine lemons. Once I started to run again, my left hamstring got all grumpy. I ran through it and it didn't cramp up like it was threatening, although the grumpy spot subsequently moved from my left hamstring to my left quad then down to my left knee. I'm guessing it was really that lump I found in my ass from that injection working its way out.
It's been fun to check out the people below me working out in the gym to try to figure out who is a regular gym rat and who is following new year resolutions. There's not a lot else to do as you run around in teeny little 1/12th mile circles. The indoor track runners have been the same. It takes a special kind of person to run around in teeny little 1/12th mile circles. Nobody else has been crazy enough to join us yet. There have been maybe eight to ten more people there at 6:30 a.m. than there was when I first joined in November. Definitely not crowded at all, although as the renovations progress that may change. But then again, maybe not; takes a special kind of person to get up at o'dark thirty to work out too.
There is a very large gal who was working out yesterday and today. I'd like to go talk to her and say how great it is that she's there, but I can't figure out how to do that and what to say without it sounding like I'm really saying "way to go, porky!" I find her presence very motivating personally and I'd like to try to give her some motivation, plus she's nearly the only other woman in the gym at that hour of the morning who isn't built like a stick. We women with breastage must stick together.
I did have a very nice naked woman from a few lockers down strike up a conversation with me this morning. She was admiring my gym lock (it's a pink breast cancer lock, so that I can find my locker once I'm done running). I hope she talks to me again; it's hard for me to be coherent that early in the day and after running. We chatted about marathons, and I noticed that a head kept popping up from the other side of the row of lockers. Turns out that other gal was wearing a 2009 Portland marathon finishers shirt. She was also made out of sticks. I'm sure she was judging me.
(Well, maybe not, but she was made of out sticks.)
I used my "1%" motivation this morning after the hamstring got grumpy. Although I must confess, in my head I keep hearing that "one more" commercial for Gardasil whenever I get into my 1% mantra. Wouldn't it be cool if you could get a vaccine that would not only keep your coochie safe from cancer but enable you to complete a marathon? "I'm going to be one more. One more cancer free coochie crossing that ol' finish line."
I wonder if Gardasil needs any marketing help?