The lost dog, and the lost spirit

Thursday was a gym off day, and the detox went as, well, the detox goes. Friday morning brought a hectic cardio session and my first proper weigh in.  Great news on the scale: I have lost 2.3kg!  Let me put this weight into pictures!

This doggie weighs 2.3kg!! So I lost a dog!

On Saturday things started to go a little pear-shaped.  Picture this:  a football match, Damon on the field, Chloé taking shelter under an umbrella and trying to study, parents around me drinking coffee,  eating burgers and chips and stuff, and there I am – with my water bottle and rice cakes.  A miserable figure.  And it just went downhill from there. 

Later that day I had to drop Chloé off at a party at Grand West – an ice skating party – which meant we had to walk through the food court to get there.  Now it’s important that you understand that the problem was NOT hunger.  I wasn’t hungry.  I was however literally going through withdrawals.  Physical withdrawals.  It felt very similar to when I quit smoking.  If I could have figured out, at that stage, what the hell my body wanted I would have had it – in bucket loads! I had no choice but to resort to doing the heavy Lamaze breathing thing to try keep calm (while only appearing slightly insane).  On my way back to the car (or so I thought) I had to walk through groups of kids milling around, making a noise, chewing food, smiling and laughing – the little shits!  And this almost tipped me over the edge.  I wanted to swipe them violently out of my way!  Grumpy and depressed I made my way back into the casino, loaded up a card with my petrol money (!!!) and proceeded to play a bit of poker.  High roller that I am, when I reached the point where I was R6 up I cashed out and went home.  Steve had, by this stage, left as he had a wedding to dj.  Cupasoup, followed by steamed fish and veggies did not help matters.  Seriously.  I did not realise that this would be as hard as it is. 

Sunday just aggravated the situation.  I decided to soft boil some eggs for us today – as a change from peanut butter – but made the bloody arse things too soft and the white was snotty!  By the time I had progressed through fruit salad for lunch (with wickedly sour grapefruit) and the cupasoup for snack I was destroyed! Oh, and by the way, it is also exam time.  Usually I survive exam-prep with the assistance of a case or two of wine.  Not this time!  The fact that I ended up having a fight with my daughter (and reducing the little karate champion to tears) over fossils, just highlights the state I am in.  In the greater scheme of things, who gives a single shit about fossils?  By the end of the evening I had managed to end up on the shit list of pretty much my entire family!  I was feeling depressed, hyper sensitive, hard done by, weepy and exhausted.  And it was getting worse.

This morning, Monday, I started off with great intentions.  Off I headed to gym – even going early so that I could warm up properly before Divine arrived.  I do not understand how it fell apart. When he got there we started brilliantly - a wicked workout session including me managing to do 126 skips without stopping, along with all sorts of other heavy duty crap – and then, 25 minutes into my session I broke. My lungs were on fire, my head was pounding, the world was spinning and I was scanning the gym for a bucket to throw up in!  No exaggeration!  It was the most demoralised I have felt – so far – on this journey.  It didn’t matter that Divine said that he had pushed me really hard, that I had done well and shouldn’t beat myself up.  It didn’t matter that he said that the withdrawals I had been experiencing were as a result of no carbs and that the lack of carbs was also the reason I was so tired, weak and depressed.   I felt like an absolute sissy - reduced to a shaky bundle of sweat on the gym floor, wanting to huddle in a corner and sob. 

So here I am, (mostly) recovered from the session this morning, but still left with the stink of defeat in my nostrils.  At the beginning of this journey a very wise friend told me to “be kind to myself”.  Would the kind thing be to give in and have some carbs?  Maybe, but is it the right thing?  In the long run, would I be being kind to myself by quitting?  But am I being kind to myself by pushing beyond the misery and withdrawals?  Maybe the kind thing is a combination of everything.  Listening to my body because it knows what it can or can’t do, what it needs and what it doesn’t.  But also be kind to the Tracy I want to be – the healthy, happy, fit and 15kg lighter one!  Melodramatic much? 

I am in desperate need of one of two things right now.  A potato.  Or a hug.  Who knows what tomorrow will hold.

T