Macaroni and cheese

November 29, 2015

I remember the day I stopped working out and eating healthy.  It was September 19, 2015.  Before then?  Before then, I had it down.  Nearly daily workouts, eighteen days into sober September, control over carbs and caffeine. What happened next? I won't bore you, but it has a name for me. Rescue mode.  The goal was to stop my mother from dying.  I didn't.  Then the goal was to get over the death.  I didn't.  Throughout, exercise went out the window, wine consumption went up, sleep came in fitful four hour cycles, and macaroni and cheese, and let's see, chocolate, bread, potato chips, mayonnaise, and every other food came calling.  Comfort.  That was it's disguise.

Now I am so uncomfortable, I can hardly move.  190.  That is what the scale read this morning.  A 15 pound weight gain in a month and a half.  I am lucky my body has this top dimension where I feel so sick, the thought of food sickens me.  But still, yuck.

I know how to do this.  I have all the supplies to do this.  Protein drinks, running shoes, fresh vegetables, daily burn, Lose It calorie counter, and finally the right attitude.  I still miss Mary immensely, but I know she would not wish this for me.

So, I am trying, one more ingredient.  Honesty and an attempt at daily blogs.  Honestly, I still hurt.  A year ago, Mom and I were planning for a trip to Honolulu.  It is unexplainable to me that she is not here now.  But, that is the truth.  Reality.  And I can't macaroni and cheese or turkey stuffing it to nonexistence.

I'm here.  I want it to stay that way.