what a stressful week it has been so far, I’m not doing too badly. Or so I have to tell myself.
This is now the second week of Renee’s challenge. The first week went well: I ran on Monday and Saturday and went for a walk on Tuesday and Friday.
(Normally I’d run on Thursday, but instead I went to a Lush party organised by Pisica who I know through LiveJournal. It was strange meeting people I’ve had online conversations with, but never seen before, especially as various people recognised me and the D. B. from our running photos. Although I was shy and awkward at first – why am I so much less articulate in person? – I had fun, and acquired quite a stash of highly scented goodies.)
I was also pretty saintly food-wise. I ate lots of fruit and avoided sugary stuff. I didn’t lose the pound I was supposed to for the challenge, but I wasn’t stressing about it as I knew my period was coming up, so I probably had a bit of water on board.
This week? Not so good.
Life is rather busy at the moment. Well, it always is, but particularly so. There’s the wedding, of course, and my attempts to sort out what I’m doing next year (which has its own set of problems, which I’m reluctant to talk about here in case I jinx things). Then the D. B. and I are also making our first tentative steps towards buying a place of our own, which involves much brain-racking over finances, and spending large chunks of weekend driving around Edinburgh looking at various flats and houses. Since it’s our first time, we’re working everything out from scratch. And last weekend, the D. B. had to go down south to attend a memorial service, and came back in a depression, which he’s still in.
The D. B. has suffered from depression for years – since he was 12. It isn’t necessarily caused by external events, although it gets worse when he’s under stress or doesn’t have enough to occupy him (as you’ll gather, it can be a delicate business ensuring a happy medium there). He’s been remarkably OK for several months now, but this week work is somewhat stressful, and it’s got to the point where he really doesn’t want to go in in the morning (though he does go). In the evenings, he’s exhausted and going to bed very early. It could be a lot worse – I’ve seen it a lot worse – but it’s awful to see him so sad and not be able to make it better.
I was trying not to dive straight into the nearest biscuit tin over this, because overdosing on sugar is not actually going to improve the situation in any way. My resolve held out until lunchtime today, when my better judgment was shouted down. Some rubbish has been eaten. By me. Now I have a bit of a headache and my mouth tastes sickly, which is what happens if you eat junk after abstaining for a while, and you’d think after experiencing this effect once you wouldn’t do it again, but there we are. (I was even slightly repulsed while I was eating it.)
I’m drawing a line under this. It is not helpful and it doesn’t make me feel better and it doesn't make the D. B. feel better and it’s a totally stupid way to behave and I knew that while I was doing it. OK.
So. I said I would journal my food and I didn’t do it (or rather, I started doing it and didn’t post it). I’ll start again, on paper at least, tomorrow. I’ll go to the gym tonight, as planned, and burn off some of the glucose sloshing about my system. I had a very good exercise day on Monday, and I’m still on track to complete Week 2 of the challenge. And if the boy and I are sad, well, that happens sometimes. It will get better. We have to hold to that.