Treading the line

After admitting I had a problem with, ahem, calorie counting, I quit but it turns out that wasn't working for me either. I started eating way too many calories and lo and behold my weight started creeping upwards. The real issue is my relationship with food is pretty damn dysfunctional and people who are not even a little bit weird around food confound me somewhat.

 So One week in I'm back calorie counting and generally feeling better about my diet which is all well and good until hormonal Laura pops by. Ever since I can remember I've readily used that one week a month as free for all on chocolate. As though the calories don't count except they do. So now not only I was I very bad today but I have an exact number to put on my badness, the calories consumed, the sugar digested. If I were a rational human being I'd have probably chalked it up to a bad day and said better luck tomorrow because stumbling isn't quite the same as falling. Instead I used my gluttony as a reason to force me to get out and be active because nothing says get out in the sun like fear of putting up weight.

 And so after work I dumped my scratchy uniform on my bedroom floor and threw on shorts and a vest top and propelled myself out the door before the siren song of my couch overpowered me. I walked as fast as my midgety legs would allow me, pounding out all my stress and calorie guilt and feeling good about the fact I wasn't lying in my cold, dark apartment. I often find that eating too much junk generally just makes me want to have a lie down so I was mostly just glad I'd not backtracked and huddled in a cosy corner with my book, even in the sun this did have a certain allure to it. It occurred to me as I was walking that perhaps this is not normal but then again I often think this about my own behavior.

 Maybe I wasn't out in the sun for the sake of it, okay I definitely wasn't. These days I'm only really outdoorsy in that I like drinking on patios but I blame that on all the city living, If it can be called that when It feels as though I'm still living in a city that's faking it until it makes it. All it took was a good 45 minutes of walking to motivate me to go for a run and my feet are still sore after it, I can almost hear them throbbing.

 Anyone who knows me is well aware running is not my favorite  It is indeed very low down my list but I'm working on that. It did occur to me mid run that perhaps in the middle of a heatwave was not the best time to be outside interval training. There are sweaty people and then there was me running, I'd say I left a trail of perspiration trailing up the top of the town. 
And I did not make myself popular cutting through Ballybricken,  judging by the looks I got people collecting their chinese takeaway on a Saturday evening do not want to be passed by a girl running in vest and shorts. It would seem it makes them feel bad. Eventually I got home pink faced to collapse on the couch because everything felt a bit shakey. Lying there until I summoned the energy to wrestle my way out of my running vest, a battle I almost lost. My legs are stiff and my feet are still complaining but maybe I'll try it again tomorrow or maybe not.

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