Do you ever walk that tightrope between success and failure and spend all day wondering which side you’re going to come down on? That was my day yesterday.
It didn’t get off to a flying start to be fair. I walked into our office, and one of my colleagues – who I swear exists on a diet of chocolate and carries no extra fucking weight whatsoever – had left a large tub of Quality Street open on the desk, the contents of which had been picked over and just the usual suspects were left.
The green triangles, the toffee pennies and some nondescript chewy caramels. Half a tub full of rejects, none of which I’d pick under normal circumstances, but you don’t need me to tell you how they taunted me all day. I put the lid on at one point after I’d sniffed the contents for about the third time. ‘Cos that was going to help, right?
I’d taken soup for lunch, except at lunchtime soup just didn’t cut it. So I had my soup and a ham salad from the deli, and I continued flirting with the rejected chocolates. I’m proud of the fact that I held out all day, and didn’t cave…I drove home feeling like I’d won the war, but of course it was just one battle.
The next one started after I’d eaten my carefully calorie-counted omelette for supper. There were nut bars in the cupboard, and skinny cow lollies in the freezer. I’m not doing too well on the staying-away-from-refined-sugar front and I couldn’t decide which one to have, so I had one of each, followed by another lolly because the first one tasted so good.
I realised I’d dipped into my exercise calories, even though the plan is not to. And the other problem was I hadn’t actually done the exercise yet. I’d added them into MyFitnessPal because I was intending to go for a swim. The pool schedule on Tuesdays has lane swimming between 9pm and 10pm. And that’s fine, except at 8.45pm from the comfort of my armchair, in pyjamas, having sunk a nut bar and two skinny cow lollies, I was feeling full fat and happy. The thought of getting changed and heading to the pool for an hour’s worth of swimming did not make me feel warm and fuzzy in any way.
I seriously couldn’t be arsed. Except I’d not only counted the extra calories, I’d already fucking eaten them. So that was the second battle I won yesterday…I abandoned the Great British Bake-Off thirty seven minutes into the technical challenge, when they’d all just cocked up the caramel filling in their Stroopwafels, and went for my swim.
It was lovely, actually. There was only half a dozen of us in the pool, so it was very quiet and non-splashy. The one-woman tidal wave who’s usually there is clearly a Bake-Off fan because she was nowhere to be seen. I just got lost in my thoughts and cut through the water for a solid sixty minutes. I’m glad I went, even though it was the very last thing I felt like doing. I finished the day with thirty seven calories on the table. On balance, I brought it home.
I must try harder to break up with sugar. Again. I keep slipping, but the thing is there’s no tightrope in my life when there’s no sugar in my life. The two things go hand in hand and I know this. It’s hardly new news, and I’ll just carry on trying to crack it.
Today’s a new day after all… 🙂
