November 2, 2010
Yesterday was my weekly visit to Simply For Life.
Down six pounds.
YEAH!!!!!
At first, when I was weighed, he said, six pounds.
Shocked and dismayed, angry and annoyed, I said, "I gained six pounds!!!!!?????"
Which really was a possibility, as last Wednesday and Thursday were a chocolate coma revival of epic proportions.
So when he said, no, you've lost six pounds, I did a happy dance.
Well, at least as much of a dance as my knees will currently allow me.
Soon, I could be breakdancing.
What a scary thought.
I was probably happier, though, when he said I could still have my one, coveted cup of coffee per day.
Some people drink coffee because they need it to wake up, or get them through the next class or whatever.
Not me.
I love coffee.
The taste, the smell, the look. . .everything about coffee entices me at each and every sensory level.
I started drinking coffee when I was sixteen.
My best friend lived literally across the street from our high school, and we would go over to her place every lunch time to eat, watch soaps, and drink instant coffee.
We were just too cool.
It got to the point where, if we didn't get there for some reason, I was miserable and crabby all afternoon, suffering from a caffeine withdrawl so intense my teachers probably thought I was suffering from some sort of drug inspired event.
But no, it was just my body wanting the that caffeine bliss coursing through it, bringing me peace, joy and the attention desperately needed to get through my last period, grade 12 history class.
An iv of coffee was needed for that.
I had an interesting history teacher.
He was near retirement, short, and used his body as a chalkboard eraser.
Rather than just pick up the erasers that were littered all over the edge of the chalk board, he would just use his hands.
And wipe them on himself afterwards.
By the time I had him for the last class of the day, the man looked like he'd been dipped in a vat of yellow chalk dust.
Unevenly.
Because the parts of himself that were the most covered in chalk dust provided imaginative fodder for the entire class, allowing me to sit at the very back, by the window and wonder exactly what he'd been up to the entire day to get chalk dust in that place.
Starbucks, STU fair trade coffee, PC Great Canadian coffee, I love it all.
Clutching my Winnie-the-Pooh coffee mug, filled with coffee, warm coffee aroma permeating my senses is THE only way I want to start my day.
I'll change everthing else, even learn to like tomatoes, all for the sake of maintaining the right, that's right, the right, to have my morning coffee.
So back off and leave me alone until I'm finished my sweet liquid of the morning!
I have come to realize, over the course of this weekend in particular, that there are some side effects to my new and improved eating regime.
Crankiness.
How could a woman who is giving herself a complete and utter lifestyle change, resulting in weight loss, better health, improved motor skills (at least we can hope, anyway) who has already lost six pounds and knows that in all likilihood the weight loss will slow down because this week was the result of the drastic changes, be cranky?
Withdrawl.
My body is pissed off.
Where is the sugar? salt? fat? preservatives?
How come the daily PC chocolate chip cookies have been replaced with 19 paltry almonds?
Where is the Great Canadian bagel with lite, that's right, lite dill cream cheese, and what the hell is this spelt that tastes like a cow's cud?
Has the oh-so-tasty carrot muffin that usually accompanies an afternoon coffee been discontinued?
PC Sweet and Salty granola bars, have they left the country?
Red tea, green tea have thou replaced the Diet Coke?
Oh afternoon chocolate bar, have you foresaken me for a, ugh, banana?
Kolach bun sandwiches, with mayo, mustard, lemon pepper turkey from the deli and provolone cheese, why did you leave and for your substitute provide, of all things, a salad without even a frickin' crouton to make it more palpable?
Ice cream, Rolo, mint chocolate chip, hell, no name chocolate in the 4 liter container, where for art thou?
My body is outraged that such a cruel, senseless, militant regime has replaced the salt, sugar, preservative loving leader has been deposed, displaced and otherwise hiding in exile until a return is on the horizon.
But it isn't.
Like any major life change, this one has left me on an emotional rollercoaster.
One minute, laughing, being my usual jovial self.
The next, looking at Stephen while he drives me hither and yon, and barking, "Why the hell are you going this way?"
Again, happy, cheerful, amiable, funny even.
And then, snapping at the kids, with an "I don't know! Look for it! If you put your stuff away you'd know where the hell it was when you needed it!"
Happily dancing around the kitchen, ipod on, singing Glee's rendition of "Fire" at the top of my lungs, stopping periodically to pet the dogs and kiss their sweet little faces.
But to the shoulder tapping child who interrupts me to ask what's for dinner, I shrilly reply, "Why do you ask? You always get dinner. Nothing's different today!"
Finally, Stephen looks at me, gently, approaches me the way one might approach an angry dog, and asks in an ever so soft, genial, kind voice,
"Dawne Ardith, are you feeling okay?"
To which I reply, "Of course I do. Why do you ask?"
"Well, honey, you seem a bit not yourself today. A little bit cranky."
Me, "Really? I didn't notice."
Knowing how hard it was for Stephen to approach me in my Sybil state, I paused and reflected upon my actions and words during the last couple of days.
And concluded that I was acting, not out of malice, hatred for my fellow man, vengefulness, but rather out and out withdrawl from those life sustaining forces, sugar, salt and preservatives.
And carbs.
Don't forget the carbs.
I miss carbs.
They are my food foundation.
Give me my crumpets, muffins, homemade bread.
Lay down in front of me platters of scones, cinnamon buns, cream cheese and cherry danishes.
Bring on the cookies, cakes and squares that send shockwaves of sumptuous sugar through my bloodstream, causing my pupils to dialate and my heart to beat faster.
Pizza with extra cheese and pineapple, souvlakis with extra tzatiki, McDonald's french fries, a godly, potato concoction that simply cannot be replicated.
No more.
So, my body is pissed off and taking it out on my moods, leaving me to be as predictable as a toddler with a bowl of chocolate pudding.
I just keep telling my family that this is a transition.
A change.
Yes, things are discumbobulated, but they will return to normal.
But for now, they just circle around me, in fear, wondering when the sugar, fat and preservative deprived cobra of calorielessness will strike next.
Someone call Billy the Exterminator.
Title Lyric: Salt, Sweat, Sugar by Jimmy Eat World
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