The Skinny (Well, Fat) On My Trip

In 20 days in the US, where I was absurdly careful about food and alcohol and very good about exercise (both the in-the-gym variety and walking a lot), I gained somewhere between seven and 10 pounds.

Yikes.

For the record, the trip did include one very bad, very embarrassing binge – on Saturday, 4 July (no declaration of independence from bingeing for me, apparently). But I worked so bloody hard, is what I want to whine to you. I had to eat lunch and dinner out nearly every day – which means I contemplated nearly an acre of delicious, way-too-bountiful choices – and chose wisely. I had to deal with my sister and various other usually-binge-triggering family members. I did have some treats (among them full-fat New York cheesecake and a McDonalds sausage biscuit, both of which actually did taste as good as I remembered) but I budgeted them in. I bought a box of Little Debbie raisin crème pies and actually only ate one (those, like so many things I used to love, definitely did not live up to the memory, but there’s certainly a time where I’d have consumed the whole box anyway.) I exercised probably 15 days out of that 20.

To be fair, there is a small chance I didn’t gain quite as much as 10 pounds. The scale today actually read 10 stone 13.5 (153.5), which would be a gain of 11.5 pounds. But I weighed myself after breakfast and a glass and a half of water. Plus I spent yesterday on an airplane, which (I think I remember) does funny things to my weight. But my best case scenario, I think, is that I only gained seven pounds. Only seven pounds. Ugh. Still, I’d almost be happy if that’s all it is – I swore I’d never go over 150 pounds again, and now I have. Whoever thought seven plus pounds could feel so heavy? And yet I feel it, with every move and breath.

It was an awful struggle today to get myself back on track. I just wanted to eat, partially in frustration and partially because I see several events on the horizon that are going to make weight management difficult. I feel huge and fat – my jeans are tight, and I feel like my waist has been covered up with a little apron of fat. I wish I could hide in my dresses (some of them have forgiving A-lines), but they are fitted at the waist and it’s raining.

One foot in front of the other. I can do this. I’ve worked too hard to just let everything slide because I’m frustrated.

I wonder how much I would have gained, though, if I hadn’t been so careful? I suppose it’s depressing and defeatist to think maybe I could have eaten everything I wanted and not come out worse than I have now. Actually, I know perfectly well I could have – because everything I wanted might well have led to bingeing every day. Yes, Beth, just shut up now.

Repeat after me: This does not mean I am going to gain everything back. This does not mean I am going to gain everything back. This does not mean…