Sunday, January 17, 2016

Eating As Full Time Job, or "Why I Require a Personal Chef"

I waited until 2100 last night to force feed myself my final protein serving. Ordinarily I would've been in bed by then, but I had to stay up for the rollercoaster ride that was the Packers game. It ended sadly for the team, but at least it was a game, and who doesn't love a Hail Mary at the buzzer?

I went to bed feeling full to the point of illness again, but woke up this morning feeling rumbly, which I suppose is a good sign. A couple of cups of coffee and a few chapters of Caliban's War and I was ready to start prepping breakfast. Basically a repeat of Friday since I have all the materials and it's easy to hit my checkboxes. The best part of breakfast the last few days is that I'm actually hungry at the start of it, so it doesn't seem like such a chore. Now, halfway through my plate? Yeah, starts to feel like a job. It's not that it tastes bad or anything, it's just pushing myself past the point of satiety is something I've tried not to do for so long that my brain starts rebelling.

Monstrous breakfast.

Tuesday I am having the lining burned out of my uterus (Finally! Die uterus die!) and that entails some premedication. Quite a bit of it.  I feel like it's overkill, but per the surgery scheduler, my Gyn wants to make absolutely sure there's no discomfort associated with the procedure. Seriously? I crapped out 2 seven pound babies in 4 minutes with no anesthesia. Do your worst. 

Anyway, today I had to start taking Celebrex 400mg twice a day, and will continue to take it for 2 days after the procedure. Over. Kill. Here are my premeds. There is a nice bottle of Percocet in there, which I've never had. Actually this will be my first schedule II medication ever. Unless you count the fentanyl I got epidurally with my daughter. Which I don't. I feel like a virgin all over again. A virgin who is happily going to get her uterus burned up.

Five things. Really.

I gave my guts some time to settle and climbed on the treader for 5 miles. It's 8 below zero. I've run in this before, but for 5 slow weekend miles? No. No need for that. I watched an episode of a hideously inaccurate CW historical drama and covered the readout with a towel so I wouldn't be ticking down the laps. It was find. My plan called for 5 at 10:40/mile and that's exactly what I did. Win.
In shorts even.

Afterwards I treated myself to a FitAID.

45 calories of yum.

I should've had a snack, because eating is my fucking job now, but I can't eat immediately after running and I was still full from breakfast. Also lunch was in the Instant Pot and I didn't want to eat a snack 45 minutes before lunch and then have to force feed myself Kalua Pig. I wanted to enjoy the pig. 

Instant Pot on it's inaugural voyage.

I gotta say, this was good pig. I could've had a double serving since I need to check my protein boxes for today, but we planned on hitting the Team WOD at CF and I didn't want to be full to the point of nausea for the workout. That never goes well.

Pig and legumes. Supafast.

Fantastic husband decided he wanted to come with me to the box, so we loaded up the spawn and headed into the unknown. All we knew was the workout was Dog Show themed. You know, agility courses and all that. We rowed, box-overed, toes-to-barred, balanced PVCs, hopped on one foot through a ladder, did ninja burpees, snatched, hurdle jumped, zig zag sprinted, pulled-up, and scuttled through a makeshift tunnel. For 22 minutes. It was super fun. Tons of people and so much variety that you hardly realized time was ticking down. Then we played Frisbee. I suck at Frisbee.

At the end the winning team was given an award and then Best in Show came to yours truly. Apparently because my shirt matched my shoes. I got a ribbon, which I promptly pinned to my head. Because what else am I gonna do with it?

Best Bitch. Was there ever any doubt?

So there will likely be a picture of me grinning like an idiot with a ribbon pinned to my head on the CF site later. And you know I wore that shit all the way home.

When I got home I made myself the required snack. I want you to picture the sadsack old man in the DD commercials saying "Time to make the donuts" when you think of me making snacks. Snacks are annoying. They are also not donuts. In this case they are carrots and hummus for my second legume and second "starchy veggie" servings today.

It's good hummus, I'll say that.

I spent some more quality time wallowing in my book this afternoon and saying "What?" and "Huh?" to fantastic husband when he tried to talk to me about the football game. I'm an annoying reader in that a book that really gets me involved gets me involved. I go all in and the rest of the world falls completely away. The house could catch fire and I wouldn't notice. Tuning shit out has always been one of my superpowers. I can ignore you until you start to doubt your own existence. 

Tonight we went out for dinner with some friends and their kids. We don't get together often enough. This time we went for pizza at Frank & Pat's (yes, I know it's Cranky Pat's now, but it will always be Frank & Pat's in my heart and the building still says is so nyah). Ordinarily I would eat enough pizza to feel all 'splody, but since I'm already full to bursting from all the other food I crammed into my face? I had this.

Iced tea, no beer.

And now that I'm home, I looked at my checklist and discovered that at some point tonight I need to eat this.

I just can't with the HBE tonight.

It's sitting on the counter taunting me. I don't want to eat it. I will, but I don't want to. Maybe in an hour or so I'll feel less like the skin of my abdomen is going to split.

Tomorrow should be a nice 3-a-day so that I can feel okay about spending Tuesday doped up at the doctor's office. I was told I can return to normal activity on Wednesday, so I'm planning to run a few and hit a yoga class that night. If I'm feeling normal I may CF as well, but that remains to be seen. I could always take a couple of Percocet and make shit interesting.

As long as there aren't any overhead movements. I feel as though Percocet + overheads=concussion.

I want to unbutton my jeans.

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