That’s what my sister and I say to each other when one of us is thinking about something seemingly simple for a leeeeetle teeny bit too long: “Oh, I see that hamster in your brain, running on its wheel. Go, Bucky, GO!!” Over years of use we’ve shortened it to just, “Go, Bucky, GO!!” Yeah. We’re loving and supportive that way. (And no, I don’t know why the hamster is named Bucky. Seemed like a good idea at the time, I guess. LOL.)
That’s kind of how I’ve been feeling lately, though: like a hamster on a wheel, covering the same ground, not going anywhere new, rehashing and rehashing until there’s nothing left to . . . well, hash, I guess.
I talked a couple of weeks ago about maybe tweaking my diet a little. I did South Beach. Stuck to it pretty well, except for a couple of drinks on Saturday nights.
I gained 3 pounds.
Oh, yeah. You read that right. WTF? This is how I gain weight: not steadily, like some folks. No, I gain wieght WHEN I DIET. I’ve come to believe it’s my body’s defense mechanism just in case I start starving myself. “Oh, look Martha, she’s cutting back on stuff! Crank up the efficiency! Store whatever you can! Batten down the hatches! It’s gonna be a loooong winter!!!” (No, I don’t know where “Martha” came from, either.) Swear to God I gain weight when I diet. Unless I cut my calories down to something ridculous, but that’s not so great, either. (No, I won’t tell you how many. There are ED folks who read this blog that don’t need to read those numbers.)
So today I snapped and had 4 fun-size Snickers bars. AND THEY WERE GOOD AND I’M NOT SORRY, SO THERE! LOL.
Part of it is probably my thyroid, in all fairness. I’ve been out of the supplements for about 6 weeks and just got them back last Saturday. Also, on SB I’ve been eating more dairy, which generally causes my digestive system to come to a complete STOP. I always gain weight when I eat dairy, even if I cut my calories back. (“But,” protests my inner irrational perfectionist, “the diet SAID it was ok!!” Um, no. Not for me it’s not. Not ever.) It’s like it takes my body so long to figure out what the hell to do with the dairy that it just stores everything else so it can THINK about this DAIRY shit in its stomach. (“What do we do with THIS, Harry?” “I don’t know, Martha – store it somewhere and maybe we’ll think of a use for it later!”)
(Is it weird that all these “people” live in my body? How about that I give them all names? Is that weird? No wait, never mind. I don’t want to know the answer to that.)
I know how I have to eat in order to lose weight. No, no! I don’t mean eat nothing (though that works, too, but it’s BAD, I know). I mean I know HOW to eat. I need to eat fairly low-carb (although I’m usually ok with a piece of toast in the morning or a glass of wine at night), medium-to-low-fat, no refined sugar, no dairy, LOTS of lean protein. But I don’t WANT to eat that way. (I DON’ WAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!) I LIKE cheese and butter and sour cream. I want Atkins to work for me SO BADLY, but . . . it doesn’t. I gained a lot more on Atkins that I did on SB, lemme tell ya. And so I keep casting around, hoping that THIS diet will be the one, that THIS diet will answer all my questions, make me skinny, make me taller, make me naturally blond, make me good at ballet AND sports, and show me the true face of God!
Um, no? That’s not how it works? Damn. I hoped it would.
Seriously, what’s the point of an omelette without cheese? Or sausage? What’s the point of regular ol’ eggs with some chicken or ham and veggies inside? Because did I mention IT HAS NO CHEESE?! But of course, the point of that would be to lose some weight and to oh, also, by the way, FEEL A LITTLE BETTER. (No, not a lot – most of the time I feel pretty good, which almost makes it suck MORE.)
I think my brain went into reruns just like my television shows did.
And then the real question: if I know how to eat, if I know what works, IS IT WORTH IT? How badly do I want to fit into that size 8? Enough to give up cheese and butter and pasta? Some days it’s worth it, some days it isn’t. Some days I’d give my EYE TEETH to wear my skinny jeans again. Some days, Fuck the world, as long as I feel good and can get up and move around, screw EVERYONE who thinks I should be thinner “just because!” But still, those skinny jeans call my name. And then I get mad that they’re calling my name, because why, really, are they? Because I don’t fit some arbitrary standard set by society? SCREW THAT.
Except . . . I look really good in those skinny jeans. And I know I could do it . . .
Go, Bucky, go.