I am in a funk today because of some familial drama (with my father, not my husband) so am not in much of a mood to write.
Last night I made these open-faced cube steak sandwiches that my husband loves. They aren’t my favorite thing, but I make sure my helping is mostly onions and mushrooms and eschew the buns, anyway. Cube steak is not a particularly tender cut of meat, so it takes an extra bit of chewing effort (especially with my lapband) and about halfway into my supper, I realized I had no appetite for it. I just pushed my plate away and said, “That’s it, I’m done. I don’t want any more.” My husband, who is learning to respond to such pronouncements in ways that will help me, whisked the plate away to the kitchen. Gone. I savored my glass of red wine while he finished his meal, talking quietly, relaxing and trying to let go of the stress of the day.
Later I had a brownie and a scoop of lowfat ice cream because I felt like it. And it was good.
I have a friend that I met two and a half years ago when we were both new to running. She is fat, also, but has some thyroid problems, to boot. In the last two and a half years, she has gone from barely being able to run a couple miles to frequently participating in half-marathons and even a few triathlons. Her weight has gone up and done, as her doctors have played around with her medications and doses, and recently she’s been very slender and healthy, more slender than I’ve ever seen her. Well, in the last month or two she’s begun to put weight on again and has been a little down about it.
I chatted with her on IM and gently passed on some good ol’ fashioned FA wisdom. She was feeling crappy about needing to either lose some weight right away or get new summer clothes. I passed her a link to some adorable Gap ruffle skirts, that I read about on Shapely Prose a couple days ago (and actually ordered a few for myself). I told her I’m not a fan of shorts, that the elastic waist won’t complain if I go up or down a few pounds, and they are wicked cute to boot. I explained about how I feel that wearing clothes that are too tight is a subtle form of punishment– I was “bad” and “let myself” gain a few pounds, so I deserve a too-tight-waistband bellyache every day! She readily agreed. I hope I helped her.