Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

eating habits

No, really. There are starving children in Africa.

I don’t know if my parents ever said those words to me over the dinner table. If my current eating habits are any indication, I seriously doubt I ever failed to clean my plate.

My parents weren’t really the guilt-trip kind, either. And now that I think about it, forcing your kids to eat everything on their plate because “there are starving children in Africa” is some messed up logic.

When I read something like this about what’s happening to children in Somalia, my heart breaks. And my first inclination is not to eat everything in sight but to actually eat less. That’s the whole point of this challenge. But I feel like I’m failing.

We, Americans, are nothing if not gluttons. My personal recent examples: Popcorn at the movies. Pizza and fried pickles afterwards for supper. No-bake cookies on a night when I just HAD to have chocolate. A refrigerator so full of food we had to invite people over to help us eat just so we didn’t have to throw stuff out before we head to Illinois for two weeks. We have so many choices we can eat whatever we want. And even when my kids refuse a meal, I know they won’t die of starvation.

Heavy thoughts. Pun, sort of intended.

Weight update for the week: I gained 2 pounds. Since I began this challenge, I have GAINED 4 and a half pounds. Not what I thought was going to happen.

A high point from the week: Even though I didn’t make it to the gym at all, hubby and I cleaned the house from top to bottom over three mornings. Housework equals burning calories, even if I was not as faithful with my eating habits.

Another high point: While out with a friend on Tuesday, I ordered an avocado turkey burger with roasted spaghetti squash and a salad. And I wanted it because it sounded good, not just because I felt the need to watch my calories. Later, we went to Dairy Queen and I ordered a mini Blizzard instead of larger size. It was just enough to satisfy my taste buds.

I know I can make good decisions. Now, to follow through. My husband and I are planning to train again for the 5K we ran last year. Running 3 times a week for 9 weeks will help. So will accountability. I’m thinking about starting a food journal to raise my awareness of what actually goes into my mouth in a day. Has anyone had any success with this? I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Pray for me, also. I feel like I’m failing the Liberian women and children I vowed to help. Discouragement is a nasty enemy, and with your help, I will fight it.

It’s just a number, right?

Week 7, Day 1. 2.5 miles on the docket today, but it’s also Saturday, which means weigh-in day. I was extremely hopeful because my jeans were fitting well this week and someone asked me if I’d been losing weight. Until this week, my husband was seeing the benefits, but I wasn’t.

So, I excitedly hopped on the scale before our run this morning and saw … I’d gained half a pound? After gaining the past two weeks also? I was so depressed I didn’t even want to run.

What’s the point? I thought. I’m running three times a week and gaining weight, so why bother.

I evaluated my eating habits from the week and acknowledged that maybe I hadn’t done great this week, but certainly it couldn’t have been bad enough to counteract three days of running, could it?

My husband, in an effort to make me feel better, put himself on the scale only to discover he’d lost more weight. Thanks, honey. I feel loads better.

My mood didn’t improve when I couldn’t find my ear gear and dropped a stroller on my toe while looking for it.

As with most of our running days, though, it didn’t take long to get over it. Phil picked a new route today, and it took us across a one-lane bridge and past a wooded area near what looked like an old mill. It was lovely.

Early in the run, I felt like I was on autopilot. Between mile 1 and 2, I felt like I was dragging a little. Around the 2 mile mark, I picked up the pace, convincing my feet that yes, we were still running and walking was not an option.

With a few blocks to go, I had to take over pushing the stroller for Phil because his calf tightened up. We actually shared the burden for the last few blocks, and when we hit our stopping point, I was sure I was going to throw up. Nevermind that I didn’t have anything in my stomach.

We normally high-five after a run, but both of us were recovering, so we forgot. Our time today was just a shade over 33 minutes.

Years ago, I used to help my mom at the end of the Reagan 5K run. We’d snip electronic tags off people or take their numbers or something. I’d see people gasping for breath, puking and dripping with sweat, and I’d wonder, why in the world do they do it? Why put yourself through it?

I felt like those people a little today. I’m not sure I have the answers, but I know that the yucky feelings pass quickly and eventually I feel really good about what we’ve done.

Weight loss or no weight loss, maybe that’s where I need to focus. We’re still doing a good thing, even if the scale wants to tell me a different story.