Damn, these are good. Just make sure you wear gloves or after you make them you will notice your hands are on fire!

I submitted this recipe to Hungry Girl and I really hope I win a t shirt! :)

Green Chili Tortilla Wraps

4 large mild tapered green peppers (I recommend Anaheim)
2 Crystal Farms (or any brand) cheddar cheese “Little Chunks” unwrapped (these should come prewrapped in a hanging bag in the cheese section). You can also use reduced fat cheddar cheese chunks if you can find them.
Four light or fat free flour tortillas

1. Wearing gloves, cut the tops off the peppers and remove the seeds by scraping the insides of the peppers with a sharp knife, making sure you keep the peppers intact.
2. Place the peppers on a non stick cookie sheet (or one sprayed with Pam) and roast under the broiler – turning once, until blistered and partially blackened on each side.
3. Turn off the oven, remove the peppers, and carefully place the peppers in a bowl covered with a plate to steam for five to ten minutes.
4. Remove the peppers from the bowl and peel off the blistered outer skin.
5. Cut each Little Chunk of cheddar cheese in half.
6. Place each pepper back on the cookie sheet and insert a half a cheese chunk into each pepper.
7. Place the peppers back in the warm oven to melt the cheese. Set the tortillas in the oven at the same time to warm.
8. After the cheese has melted, remove the peppers from the oven, wrap each one in a tortilla (soft taco style) and enjoy!

Little Ray of Sunshine

Lately I've been thinking. Why assume the worst?

If I can CHOOSE to interpret people's actions as good or as bad, why choose bad?
If I force myself interpret the actions of others as good, even if I'm wrong, I'll still feel better.

What does it gain me to see everything that everyone else does in the worst possible light? How does it help me to assume that everyone is a shithead who is out to get me? It doesn't help me at all.

It's even kind of fun if you can think of it as a challenge. I'm challenging myself to see the bright side of every situation, instead of the dark. And in the end it benefits me.

So ask yourself: "Is there any way to interpret this person's actions positively?"

I'm sure there is. No matter how ridiculous, it helps me believe that life is more than everyone else trying to screw me over.

Na Na Na, Na Na Na Na Na

Despite the vision of paradise that I'm sure our marriage presents to the outside world (kidding), Mr. E and I have our occasional disagreements. Although to be fair we're much better than we used to be. No one's called us The Bickersons (to our faces) for months now. Mostly we're just sad no one bought us the Hulk Hands we registered for when we got married because sometimes it seems like a good wrestle would just clear some things up. I guess because we're both kind of antagonistic. Me, in an in your face kind of way and Mr. E in a world record passive agressive kind of way. If we were dogs I'd be the kind that grabs onto your pants hem and yips incessantly while refusing to let go. Mr. E would be the kind of dog that lopes along doing whatever he wants and ignoring you no matter how much you yip at him. Despite all of this, the only thing that we really really deep down disagree on is music. We just can't wrap our heads around the kind of music the other person wants to listen to.

Plus, I swear Mr. E uses music specifically to annoy the shit out of me. This morning while I was getting ready for work he played that craptacular Kylie Minogue song "Can't Get You Out of My Head" THREE times. Jesus, that is a terrible terrible song. Why anyone would want to hear it twice, I can't imagine. Three times is just cruel.

I suppose I should just be happy it wasn't the maudlin tones of the latest fashionable indie rocker (Sufjan, I'm talking to you) committing audible suicide in the name of "music". I still have nightmares over the lengthy Bjork 107 Steps incident of 2000-2001. Wailing is not singing, people, it's just not.

When Mr. E was in college his whole family thought he must be gay because he wouldn't stop listening to Liz Phair. (hee) I didn't realize this until after I asked (years later) why they were all so happy to meet me.

Mr. E doesn't believe that I don't like the Beatles. But really, I don't. At all.

I prefer music that doesn't jangle my delicate nerves. Soothing, quiet music that makes me feel happy, or at least calm. Music that's not sung by someone who maybe stabbed themselves just to put themselves out of their misery. I'd be perfectly happy listening to "Brown Eyes Blue" by Crystal Gayle on repeat for the rest of my life. Maybe mix it up with some Prince once in awhile, and be done with it.

In other words,

I don't care where we go
I don't care what we do
I don't care pretty baby
Just stop listening to Radiohead.

If you think that it should be called 30 below because it's very cold in Antarctica, you'd be wrong.

I never cry at movies. I just don’t. The last time I cried at a movie was Million Dollar Baby, and even that was after the movie in the car on the way home, and I maintain that it was an exception anyway because it had Morgan Freeman doing a voice over AND I think I was about to get my period or something.

The point is that last weekend Mr. E and I went to go see Eight Below. You know, that Disney movie that just came out about the sled dogs trapped in Antarctica with Paul Walker – also known as the most amazing story of survival, friendship and adventure ever told? Yeah, that movie. I cried from start to finish. At one point I had to give myself a stern lecture and tell myself to pull it together – I was about to just curl up in my seat and sob openly.

Is it normal to cry for two hours in a movie about sled dogs when Brokeback Mountain moved you not at all? Perhaps not.

Regardless, the movie itself was pure Disney schlock, which is not to say it wasn’t well done (it was) and I loved every minute of it. I kind of want to see it again. Ok, I really want to see it again. I told Mr. E maybe we should just have some damn kids already, if we’re going to end up spending our Sundays at Disney movies anyway.

The Fattest Girl in the Room

I read somewhere recently that to lose weight, you need a lightning moment. You need one of those moments when the curtain of denial slips aside and you realize that you’re not just big boned and you’re not meant to be this size and that other people do see you as fat, and you can’t just go on the way you are because it’s not how it should be after all. Something has to push you of complacency and make you want to change things.

I had my moment standing in a dressing room trying on bridesmaids dresses for my sister in laws wedding two years ago. I’ve always felt really self conscious around my perfect perfect perfect sister in laws, and something about this day made me feel incredibly bad about myself, worse than I’d felt about myself, maybe ever. Maybe it was because all the dresses we tried on looked terrible on me, or because I had to hold the dresses up in the back with my arms twisted around me since they wouldn’t zip, or because a stranger told me it was nice to see how the dresses looked on a bigger girl. Maybe it was because we all went out to lunch afterwards and my sister in laws talked about how fat they were (they weren’t) and how fat all their friends were. Whatever the reason, I’ve never felt so much like the fattest girl in the room.

That was my day. That was my moment. What I wanted most of all was to never feel like that around those three women ever again. I had no more motivation than that, at the beginning, but that day made me feel so bad about myself that it made me powerful. Because even though I’d been overweight for a long time, somehow I hadn’t thought of myself as fat until that day.

When I went home this year at Christmas, I felt great. I felt proud as I ran a 5K in 10 degree weather. My neighbor told me I was “so skinny”. My mom gave me clothes that were too small for her. I felt perfect. I bought size four jeans at American Eagle when I was Christmas shopping with my brother and they felt like a guarantee – an iron clad promise that I was skinny, no matter what. After all, "fat" girls don't wear size four American Eagle jeans.

The jeans weren’t enough. When we left and went to stay with Mr. E’s family for his birthday, all of a sudden, I was fat again. I felt rolls bulge over the waistband of those same jeans. I felt eyes watching what I ate. Mirrors made me cringe. I felt bloated, puffy, like the biggest girl in the room. I avoided having my picture taken, avoided talking about weight. I ate salads. I’d worked so hard. And still, I was right back there, again, the big girl in the yellow bridesmaids dress, arms twisted behind me, quiet and sad and fat.

I’m not sure when I realized this. I know it wasn’t a lightning moment. But I’m starting to think that maybe I could lose all the weight in the world, I could wear any size jeans, I could lose these last five pounds and be at my goal weight and more, and I wouldn’t ever feel skinny, or even ok, around my sister in laws. Maybe, those two years ago, I was wrong. Maybe, just maybe, losing weight won’t fix how I feel around the three women who make me most insecure in this world. Maybe there’s something else I need to fix.

Too Many Damn Carrot Sticks

I think having to be all hard core with what I eat all the time to try to lose these last stubborn 5-7 stupid pounds is making me have all kinds of weird cravings. My ww points just reset for the week which means now I can dream about all the bad for me food that I want to use my extra points on. And not in a good way. Normally I get a weird craving for a brownie or something and I wait and see if it passes and if it doesn't I go out and eat a brownie and enjoy the shit out of it, and move on. This feels different though. I'm not sure why. Maybe if I list it all out I can pick the least terrible option and have that and just move on.

-McDonald's because Mr. E went there last night (might have to get just a hamburger, not eat fries, count it, and move on).
-Panera soup because I haven't been there in so long and I love it so much (this is ok because it's not bad for you if you get the veggie soup not in a bread bowl).
-Chocolate muffins (WW has these so I'll just those).
-IHOP pigs in a blanket (hmm, this one is tricky. I could get this and eat half. I've been craving sausage for two months, so maybe I should just eat it. I've tried veggie sausage and bacon and turkey sausage and low fat sausage and none of it did the trick).
-pizza (I can eat the Lean Cuisine version of this and be perfectly happy).
-I'm also jonesing for some of the awesome homemade soup at this restaurant in town. (It's too cold to go here and they never take cash, so I'm gonna rule that one out).

That's not TOO bad when you really think about it. We'll see.
Note that most of this is fast food, which I never eat, so maybe I just need to cut myself some slack and have a damn hamburger and move on.

Love Yourself Today

I have a terrible memory - in certain ways. I can remember faces from years ago, even faces I've only seen once. But if you ask me how long I've worked somewhere, or how long I've been married, or how old I am, my mind comes up blank. So holidays are really useful for me to use as milestones, to remember certain things by. I guess it's a way to look back.

I remember a Valentine's Day my first year in college. It was early morning, a gorgeous morning, only possible in February in California. I was up early for some reason and I was standing out on the balcony of my dorm, looking down on campus, and I saw a boy walk by. A boy who had liked me a lot, and who I had not liked, at all, and whom I had rebuffed, several times. And he was carrying a huge armload of flowers. For someone else. I didn't even want to be that someone else, his someone else. But in that moment, I knew that there was no one out there carrying a huge armload of flowers for me, and something dropped out of me, right out of my heart, in that second.

Two years ago I had just started Weight Watchers the week before Valentine's Day, and naive little me was expecting big results. I had a closet full of fancy lovely clothes I hadn't been able to fit into in ages, but I'd been doing Weight Watchers for A FULL WEEK. And working really hard at it. So surely something ought to fit. But no. Nothing fit. I threw on the same pair of crappy elastic waisted black Old Navy pants I'd been wearing for a year, and bitched my way out of the house. I still remember Mr. E asking me what was wrong, and after I told him, him telling me in the sweetest voice that he thought I looked really nice. Although to be honest it wasn't WHAT he what he said that stuck with me. It was how he said it. So lovingly and so surprised, almost, that I would think so many bad things about myself, that I couldn't see myself the way he saw me. It gave me hope.

And here we are, two years later. I've lost almost 60 pounds since then. I'm 4-5 pounds from my goal weight (115 pounds). I'm going to go stuff myself with sushi and be happy that I don't have to do dishes tonight, and then I'm going to run three miles and think back on that girl who was disgusted with herself two years ago and I'm going to tell myself "Self, today is valentine's day. Try to love yourself, today, just a little. You deserve it."

As my father always said, no matter how slowly you run, even if you come in last, you beat everyone else who never even ran.

I got back from San Francisco last night at 11:45, feeling sick and gross and tired of traveling. I ran the half marathon, my first half marathon, in 2:08. Not as fast as I wanted, but I did the best job I could do. And now there is nowhere to go but up! I’ve not been converted to a full marathoner by any means, but I am already planning Half #2, and I am hoping to put all my lessons from Half #1 to work and run the second one in under 2 hours. You never know.

San Francisco was great, and amazing. My friends were fabulous hosts, the weather was gorgeous. I miss it already, but I am very tired and happy to be home. I missed Mr. E and my little Bella mightily. My ankle is fine, better than fine, and doesn’t hurt at all. Hopefully it was a one time thing and not a chronic injury.

I really did think that sometime after the finish I would have this all encompassing heavens bursting open revelatory moment where I felt like my soul was screaming “WOO HOO, I RAN 13.1 MILES!!!!!” but if that’s going to happen, well, it hasn’t happened yet. I do know that I’m really tired and I don’t feel good (for reasons unrelated to running) but I also think that maybe part of running a half marathon is talking yourself out of how scary and huge and amazing it is and by the time you actually do it, you realize that it’s just a matter of putting in the time and the dedication and believing in yourself and that while it all comes down to ticks on a finishing clock and a number pinned to a jersey and a cup of Gatorade that actually the real victory was that morning you ran even though you didn’t want to and that first time you ran five miles when you never ever believed you could and the two weeks you iced your ankle all day and all night and that’s why you and everyone else is out running together on Sunday morning and while some of you might be really fast and some of you might be really slow, all of you are runners.

But in spite of all of that, I am proud of myself. I’m might not be having a screaming “I did it moment” but you know what? I did do it. I did it.

I'm always trying to remember what these are, so here are the 14 Super Foods

Beans -- reduce obesity
Blueberries -- lower risk for cardiovascular disease
Broccoli -- lowers the incidence of cataracts and fights birth defects
Oats -- reduce the risk of type II diabetes
Oranges -- prevent strokes
Pumpkin -- lowers the risk of various cancers
Wild salmon -- lowers the risk of heart disease
Soy -- lowers cholesterol
Spinach -- decreases the chance of cardiovascular disease and age-related macular degeneration
Tea -- helps prevent osteoporosis
Tomatoes -- raise the skin's sun protection factor
Turkey -- helps build a strong immune system
Walnuts -- reduce the risk of developing coronary heart disease, diabetes, and cancer
* Yogurt-promotes strong bones and a healthy heart

I am OK

Believe it or not, (I can barely believe it myself) I'm doing ok. Due to my ankle injury, I took a week off from running and while at first I thought it was going to kill me, I started to think maybe it was a blessing in disguise. I had to be pretty hard core about what I ate and I realized that I had been using running as a crutch to eat whatever I wanted to shove in my mouth. This is my chance to learn how to eat right (for the millionth time) even if I can't exercise off extra calories. This ankle injury might be just what I needed to finally get to my weight loss goal.


In other news, I think my ankle is better. I am still taking it easy, and I'm icing it as we speak, but I ran three miles last night and it seemed fine. I also stretched before (but not after, because I suck) and I know I need to pay way more attention to stretching now. The tightest part of my whole body was the muscle that runs up the back of my leg from my ankle to my knee. No wonder my ankles are all fucked up.

Wow, what a boring post. I just wanted everyone to know that I am doing ok.
And I'll say this. This ankle injury has made me one crabby panicked bitchy stressed out dieter and athlete. But I am very proud of myself for not letting it get the best of me, for learning something from it. I am proud of myself for listening to my body, for taking a break when it felt like failure to do so, and for not giving up, but instead turning a very negative and upsetting turn of events into a positive thing. Not everyone could do that. A lot of people would just give up. I am proud of me for not giving up.

Trying to fix the me on the inside too...

Meg's post today got me thinking.

I think it's almost impossible to grow up with parents who were weird about what food they let you eat (like mine) and not be sneaky about food. For example, Mr. E's parents never gave a shit what he ate (and as far as I know he NEVER sneaks food, why would he?), while my parents were always watching what I ate, always checking up on me. I was very aware of what food was forbidden and I snuck it and I still do.

For me I think it has to do with a sense of shame, a sense of failure. At least now that I am a "grown up", for me it's not that I do or don't deserve to eat certain things in other people's minds, it's that I have failed at following a strict diet plan. I have given in, I have fucked up. I was less than perfect, I ate cookies, and I don't want anyone else to know.

I often make grandiose statements to Mr. E that I can't keep (like "I'm not going to bake anymore" or "I'm not eating any more crap") and then sometimes if he's feeling brave he will call me on it when my intentions fade and I cave and make cookies or want to go to the store to get ice cream. And I don't WANT to be called on it!

Really, it's not his fault, I set myself up for failure when I say things out loud like "I'm not baking any more". And I know he thinks he is trying to help me and that I want him to motivate me, but the reality is that I don't. Or maybe the reality is that being called on something you know you shouldn't do isn't motivating?

For example last night I pretty much tried to hide the fact from Mr. E that I was going to make chocolate cookies. Why can't I just say "Oh, ha, I know I said I wasn't making any more cookies or eating any more crap and I know that I'm going to be mad at myself come Friday morning but right now I want to eat cookies more than I care about losing weight".

I guess because then I would have admit out loud that I am being "bad", that I am failing, that I am NOT in control, that I am not following the rules, that I am fucking up and that I care more about eating than I do about being thin, and that when I have gained weight on friday it's my fault, and it's because I couldn't control myself, and it's not some random blip on the scale, it's because I fucked up.

Although it's interesting that I am so concerned with justifying it. Is it a self fulfulling prophecy? Did I make Mr. E feel like he had to say something because I was being sneaky? Why couldn't I just say "Hey, I'm craving cookies, and I have the points for them, I think I'll make some?"

Meg has me pegged. I don't believe I deserve treats. I think like a fat girl who deserves nothing more than to be castigated and punished, who can only have cookies if she justifies them or sneaks them, because everyone knows fat girls shouldn't eat cookies. More self loathing.

In my mind I need to lose ten pounds, so I don't deserve cookies, or anything really. When the reality is that I don't actually need to lose ten pouunds to be healthy, it's purely a personal thing at this point, and I could eat a cookie or two and it won't make a damn bit of difference. I want to have to lose ten pounds so I have an excuse to hate myself. I want to have to lose ten pounds so I never deserve the cookie. I want to have to lose ten pounds so I never have a normal cookie eating experience. Because not having to lose weight and not having to castigate yourself for eating cookies and not feeling guilty and terrible about eating treats means only one thing. The thing that scares me more than anything in the world.

Gaining weight.

Sigh.

Please, eat cookies in front of me, have I mentioned how good this water is?

I was working on a long post all about how losing weight and being mini skinny and a diet nazi wasn't going to get me what I wanted, wasn't going to make me any happier, how I need to learn to love myself and to accept what I've been given and blah blah blah. And then I hurt my ankle and I gained three pounds in a week where I tried so hard not to eat too much that I sat at my desk and STARVED for hours every day and had to press on my stomach so that people didn't hear my stomach growl and now I just feel hopeless. Like it was all for nothing. Now I just feel like my only choice is to not eat and to be unhealthy and I feel panicky and so afraid. I know that somehow there has to be a choice in between anorexia and marathon running but I'm having a hard time seeing it right now.
In the meantime, I'm hungry and my ankle hurts and honestly, I just want to lie in bed and cry. I can't explain how I feel. It feels like failure.

Priorities

Well, I insisted on running on my fucked up ankle last night, and now it's more fucked up than ever. The reality of is that I'm just trying not to think about it because I don't want to have realize how fucked up my priorities are. Because then I'd have to try to fix them, and I just don't want to right now. They SHOULD be:

1. Love Myself no matter what
2. Don't permanently fuck up my ankle
3. Run a half marathon
4. Don't get fat

but they ARE:

1. Don't get fat
2. Run a half marathon
3. Don't permanently fuck up ankle.

You'll notice love myself no matter what isn't even on the real list. I know that's not right, but I don't want to fix it if it means I'll gain weight. And I'm terrified of gaining weight but I'm just not in the fucking mood to freak out about this right now so for the next few days it's going to be a contest of my iron will over food.

I never thought I would be saying this but the idea of not exercising every night has me freaking the fuck out. It's my safety net. Without it I am lost. I am stressed out, crabby, and getting fatter by the minute (in my mind). I need my nightly run like I need a drug.

Bitchy Ankle

I could never be an elite runner, because I fucking hate icing shit. Right now I'm sitting at work with my space heater blasting on me and an ice bag rubber banded to my ankle at the same time. Having something icy and frozen attached to your sore ankle when you are already freezing your ass off bites. I hate being cold. I almost subscribed to Runner's World once and then I read this article about some woman who had run over 200 marathons and took two ice baths a day and "didn't even like hot baths anymore" and I almost started hyperventilating at the horribleness of it all and then Mr. E gently suggested that maybe one magazine a month (Martha Stewart Living) that drives me to panic attacks and tortured feelings of inadequacy was enough.

I refuse to be injured, I refuse. So far it's going well for me, as you can tell.

Lessons Learned, Eleven Miles Later

1. My official night before run meal needs to be spaghetti and meatballs. Rice doesn’t work, bread doesn’t work. Mr. E can get all up in my mix with his science talk about how all carbs are the same blah blah blah, but spaghetti and chicken meatballs works better than anything else at giving me energy the next day.
2. After much experimentation, I’ve now set my official before run breakfast at half a Carrot Cake Clif Bar, oranges, yogurt, and oatmeal with brown sugar and coffee with sugar. As much of it as I can eat. (I had about half or 1/3 of my oatmeal, three orange slices, and half the yogurt).
3. I officially love my Camel bak. SO much better than carrying a water bottle. I love love love it. I’m mad at myself that I waited so long to get it. Best 29.95 I ever spent. And no shoulder aching! Yeah!
4. The extra one hundred calories for an extra Gu are so worth it (I used two total). When I get that weird “hmmm” in the back of my head, I need to eat my Gu RIGHT THEN, rather than waiting for a preset mile marker to go past. And don’t make fun of me, but something about running along eating a Gu makes me feel like SUCH AN OFFICIAL RUNNER! I am hard core, ya’all! I am eating energy gel cuz I am running so damn far!!! I am a loser, I know it. But when that voice in the back of your head says “You can barely run four miles! You’ll never be able to run ten miles” and then work and work and work and lo and behold, one day you run eleven miles, well, you feel like you achieved something incredible and pulled some sort of con, all at the same time. And somehow the Gu thing makes me feel more like a real runner and less like a poser. I feel…proud of me. That is a rare feeling.
5. I need to run on a smooth (non gravel surface). My hip joints did hurt this week, but not so bad I couldn’t keep going. The pea gravel I ran on last week is deadly.
6. If something doesn’t work right, even if other people swear by it, keep trying other options. My best friend swears by Wrightsocks to prevent blisters, and they just don’t work for me. However, the Asics Kayano Extreme socks recommended by Runner’s World are the bomb! 11 miles and no blisters. Usually I have blisters from four miles. Love love love these socks. They are expensive, but totally worth it. Also, just in general, I really really really like Asics products. I have an Asics long sleeved running shirt that wicks and is the softest thing ever, and I love it.
7. Number One Lesson Learned? I had a terrible 10 miles last week. My worst run, ever, practically. I got so freaked out and depressed and stressed out after it that I didn’t even want to blog about it or think about it. Now I’m 99.99% certain it was because I went out running too fast. It didn’t even occur to me, for some reason, that I was just running too fast, especially at the beginning of my run. Maybe I am out of practice at this because I do so much speed work during the week and so much of it is on the treadmill and I am used to trying to make myself go faster, but that’s not the point of the long run. Even if it were, I’m not a fast runner, esp since I’m so short, and the only way I can get through long runs, especially ones I do outside, is to remind myself every 30 seconds to slow down. Yesterday I had my IPOD but I was really running to a constant mental soundtrack that went “slow down, slow down, slow down”. And it was awesome. I had a great great run. I felt tired afterwards, but a good tired. Like I could have run 2 more miles. Like I could run a half marathon if I wanted to.

13 miles, I’ll see you in two weeks. Full of spaghetti and ready to kick ass.

So True, IMHO

My experience is there's no way you can manufacture events and find the truth," Ms. Karr says. "Great memoirs don't take bizarre experiences and make them more bizarre and outrageous. They take bizarre experiences and make them familiar. That's the power."

Mocha Rewards

I'm having a really hard time focusing right now. I have ten pounds left to go. Part of me thinks maybe trying to lose weight while training for a half marathon is just too hard. Part of me is scared shitless that I'll never be happy at any weight. Part of me is scared shitless that I'm still fat and I just don't know it. And another part of just wants to be done with this and is terrified that I'll be doing this stupid diet forever and also part of my is very very tired of being hungry and thinking about food all the time. And the final part of me worries that my boring boring job is making me fat because I just sit here all the time and think about how much I want a mocha with whipped cream from Starbucks. Mostly I know that I could be trying harder. I've been cheating a lot and bullshitting myself about it and I haven't been counting points AT ALL.

I started ww two years ago on Valentine's Day. Always good to start things on holidays, then you are more likely to remember them. I'd really like to be done, or damn near done, on February 14th of this year. Depending on the scale, and on any given day, that's about eight pounds in five weeks. Which is totally doable, I think, if I can just get on a roll.

So my new goal is to not cheat, to not have any treats, to not have any extras I don't count, and to count EVERYTHING, ALL DAY LONG. If I do this for one week, from today until next Tuesday, I can have my tall nonfat mocha with whipped cream.

The problem is I really want my mocha right now.

Am bitter.

However, so far it's working. I have tracked every point today and I didn't cheat by not tracking my stupid clementine like I usually do. What can I say, I am going to be a star at maintenance. However I just have to make sure I don't think maintenance is easier than THIS because THIS IS MAINTENANCE. Clementines for a treat. How depressing is that?

E

Forever and Ever, Amen

I just ate chinese buffet for lunch. To which I can only say "blech." I don't consider it a fuck up, because I only had one plateful, and most of it was veggies, and I ate clean all morning and will all afternoon, and will eat a low points dinner, AND run five miles. And I didn't eat my egg roll because it was gross, etc.
AND it was a work thing that I simply could not get out of. And honestly, I can't do any diet or lifestyle where I can't eat at certain places everyone once in a awhile. Sometimes the chinese buffet is unavoidable and you have to use your mojo on it and not eat all of your egg roll.
But at the same time, I know it wasn't healthy, at all, and that sucks.

This weekend Mr. E was talking to his mom and she started to tell him her latest diet fad, which is to not eat any refined sugar or flour.
And Mr. E (good for him!) actually said "Mom, not to be mean, but that isn't going to work!" And she asked why not and he said "because the only thing that works is eating less and exercising more."

But it got me thinking. The real Number 1 diet secret ever? The real reason why the "no sugar" diet never works? And I really believe this. Before you start anything, ask yourself "Could I do this for the rest of my life?" If the answer is no, then it's not going to work! It might work temporarily, but it won't work forever. That's why so many Atkins or South Beach Diet people fail in the long run. You can't do something so extreme permanently.

So yes, I ate at the Chinese buffet, but NOT eating at the Chinese Buffet isn't something I could do for the rest of my life. It's not realistic.

It's too late to turn back now

I just bought my ticket to San Francisco for the half marathon weekend. I need to send in my registration, since it's due by the 19th, but even so, I have to go through with it now! I've never backed out of race before, and I don't REALLY want to now, but for some reason the finality of actually having a plane ticket is making me really nervous and stressed out.

The half is less than a month away, and my long runs are getting LONG (9 miles last weekend which SUCKED, every one of them), and I am getting NERVOUS. I actually started repeating "I think I can, I think I can" over and over again this weekend while I was running.

And also? Nine miles, people. I ran NINE MILES!!!! I have to turn it over and over in my mind to believe that it really happened, that I really did it. I RAN NINE MILES. Will wonders never cease?

I am trying to think positive. I know I can do it. And I will be running with my best friend of eighteen years and thinking about us crossing the finish line together puts a smile on my face every time :)

Cooking Light Review

Last night we had the Lemon Chicken Pita Burgers, and the Honey Glazed Carrots

The chicken was ok, but a tad bland. I think it would be good with some tzaziki sauce, or however you spell that, but as of right now I prefer Martha's turkey burgers and her chicken meatballs. The carrots, on the other hand, were HORRIBLE. As in, inedible. They just tasted like mushy carrots with honey. Very sad :( It could have been the honey, as the stuff we have is some rather strongly flavored french chestnut honey, but I've got to warn you, not good.
We also had the Chicken Paprikash on Tuesday night and it was also eh. I wanted it to be saucier and creamier.

Update on not gaining over Christmas plan: Failed. Gained five pounds. Am back on track now though. Have between 9-15 pounds to goal weight. Am slamming water in anticipation of Friday's weigh in, hoping to get back to 120. 125 is v. v. bad and has undone MONTHS of work in 12 days. Am sick and tired of dieting, must figure out how to make it go faster.