The last time I properly ate was Sunday night. Since then I’ve only sipped apple juice simmered with fresh ginger to calm my stomach, which I promptly returned — a reminder of why W doesn’t have any siblings (yet). I had written a few paragraphs Sunday before being hit by the stomach flu and decided to let them sit until I wasn’t crouched on the bathroom floor.
Here’s how it went:
There aren’t many evenings more dispiriting than the final one of the holiday stretch — that Sunday night after Christmas and New Year’s when you can no longer blame missed emails, voicemails, and deadlines on being “off for the holidays.” It’s the night before real life resumes and you must face the piles and tasks you left for later. I had pictured January as a fresh start: rested, organized office and home, clean kitchen, done laundry, and a prioritized 2009 to-do list in a new daytimer. I even imagined a couple of gym visits already checked off.
Instead I found myself up much later than planned, perched on the couch in an oversized red, yellow, and green plaid flannel LL Bean nightshirt, pink polka-dot flannel pants, and brown-and-orange socks — my default outfit for the past week — loudly signaling that I’d let myself go. A hundred or so red and green foil Hershey’s Kiss wrappers, rolled into tiny balls and scattered across the couch and floor, reinforced the impression. I looked like a swollen, female George Costanza who’d been stung.
Santa didn’t bring the Mac I’d hoped for (apparently the elves need my input and I haven’t been to the workshop since Boxing Day), nor did he deliver the time-management skills I keep wishing for. Much of what arrived over the holidays, however, was edible. Dinner that night was the last of the baked potatoes, turned into pan-fried potatoes (roughly chopped and fried in a slick of oil with a dab of butter, seasoned with curry powder, chili powder, and salt), eggs fried in the same pan, toast, and the remaining junk we’re trying to clear from the kitchen: ripple chips with French onion dip, chocolate, and cookies.
So it’s no surprise I’ve somehow added an extra ten pounds since Christmas in November. Maybe measuring in stones would make it sound less dramatic — one stone is about 14 pounds, so it becomes “just a few pebbles,” right? I’ve needed to address this for awhile, but I clearly didn’t want it badly enough — perhaps I was too tired, overwhelmed, or simply lazy. I’m not one for New Year’s resolutions just because it’s January 1; in fact I often insist on a rich breakfast on the first day of the year to get it out of my system. Still, it’s as good a moment as any to cut back on seasonal excess and start feeling better. I’m also pretty sure I’m all “chocolated” out.
Fair warning: I’ll likely be focused on healthier eating in the coming months. Not obsessively — life isn’t like that — but enough to make a real change, which means you may see that emphasis spill over here. I’ve begun by revisiting favorite healthy recipes from last year and taking stock: most of the yogurt containers in the freezer actually hold soup, chili, and pasta sauce — a promising start.
Some of you know I’ve done this before. Friends and family will shrug and say, “You’ve done it before, you can do it again.” That’s logical, but knowing the route and actually walking it are different matters. We all know the steps to lose weight or get fitter; the challenge is following through.
{Insert stomach flu here.}
By Monday dinner I still hadn’t checked my email or made it to the gym. If there’s a silver lining, not eating much has helped break the overeating habit I developed over the holidays. W, who was sick around 4:30 a.m. but has been fine since, requested a picnic dinner in front of Wall-E. Done. I spread a whole wheat hot dog bun with peanut butter and tucked a banana inside — a banana-dog — and W ate it without utensils. Mike is beginning to curl up in the corner, and I’m sipping a small Coke. I’ll report back on how the night goes.