Sweetness and Blight
So first the important news: Writing cures PMS.
I spent last month plotting out my daily mood and weight, hoping that the ‘cycle of my cycle’ might yield some clues as to why I’m out of sorts for 12 days of PMS followed by 7 days of period. For months now, I’ve had 3 bad weeks out of 4, and I was starting to wonder if I had Something Serious going on.
As it turns out, I have nothing to report. I had a bottom at the beginning, but after I got past the early days, I leveled off around the 7 or 8 mark and never went down. I had an angry day, but it was a mere shadow of what normally happens. And the PMS I did experience was, on reflection, just an echo of What Usually Is. So clearly, journaling cures The Angries. And the Sleepies and the Saddies and even some of the Bloating. I gained this cycle, but it was just shy of 2 pounds instead of my usual 3.
So the Quantitative Method apparently folded into the Hawthorne Effect where, in studying myself to see what I could improve, I improved.
But the science is not all wasted, because I discovered something important. For example, I now ‘bottom out’, weight-wise, on Wednesday. I think it’s because I’m doing yoga on Sundays and Tuesdays. It could also be because I weigh in on Saturdays and I’m so freaked out that I’m still in the 154 range that I am super-strict all weekend. This spills into the week until Wednesday when the results start to show and my body starts demanding food. Three weeks in a row, I was Perfectly Pure until Wednesday, and then I caved. Last week, I managed to get through Wednesday only to see Thursday take its place. By the time I got it under control, it was too late to weigh in at Weight Watchers. I actually did something I thought I would never do: I stayed away from the meeting, too embarrassed to weigh in with yet another gain.
I also discovered that I crashed whenever I indulged in sweet snacks. I would let a few jelly beans pass my lips and then I’d be nearly comatose all afternoon. Not only would I be jittery and near unconscious, but I was powerfully hungry immediately after the ‘treat’ and for hours afterward. It was as if the sugar triggered Famished Fatty and set her loose into Candyland. And then, once I'm stuffed to the gills, I'm so shot from the sugar that I cease to function.
Friday night, I had some fat free Reddi-Whip (that does have sugar in it), and 10 minutes later, I couldn’t keep my eyes open. This was no I’m Busy and Therefore Tired exhaustion, either. This was anchors-on-the-eyeballs, organs drooping, wring-me-out/stick-a-fork-in-me wiped out. Even Howard noticed that I couldn’t function properly. I'd been fine all day, and so my accusing finger pointed to the aerosol can in the refrigerator. It couldn't have been the jello. Must have been the white foamy stuff. With great remorse and hoping I was wrong, I marched to the refrigerator, pulled out the rest of the Canned Sweetness and tossed it into the trash.
I have heard for years that sugar is a drug, or that it can behave like one in the body. The human body cannot properly digest refined sugar. It taxes the pancreas, runs roughshod over the adrenal glands and plays havoc with your brain. Speaking personally, sugar is like crack for me, I can never have a little. If I taste it at all, my body lunges forward as if I’ve never stopped eating it. No, that’s not right. It races me to the candy counter, demanding that I catch it up from all the candy it’s lost since my last binge.
I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to prove empirically that I’m addicted to sugar. But I don’t have to. I know what it does to me; it crushes me under its boot and then it goes after my husband. If it’s feeling particularly ornery, it goes after my son. No, not ‘it’. I. Me. I turn into a shrieking nerve cell dancing in a vat of boiling oil.
No matter what the cause, I am tired of it. No amount of sweetness is worth this agony. Whatever pleasure I derived from desserts and ding-dongs, it’s gone now. All that’s left is the grating, incessant need to feed a habit that is long past pleasurable.
So, effective last Saturday, I am sugar-free. It’s going to take some time to get me to 100%, since sugar is a little godlike, in that it’s everywhere. There’s even sugar in WW yogurt --or artificial sweeteners, anyway. In some ways, Splenda and NutraSweet are worse than sugar. They are sweeter, and they make the cravings stronger. So I switched away from my beloved WW yogurt to plain yogurt with fresh fruit.
It is taking some getting used to, and it involves a lot of conversations with myself about how I'll be happier and healthier in the long-term. Howard is a trooper about it, even blending up a mix of strawberries, raspberries and mangoes to ladle over the yogurt. It's nice, but it's no WW, and it's going to be an adjustment.
I’ve also plucked out all the ‘oh they’re fat free, so they’re ok’ snacks, such as jelly beans and Twizzlers. I've even eliminated the lone Jolly Rancher I sometimes allowed myself in the afternoons if I got dry-mouthed. It’s all gone. I am sugar-laden no more.
The weekend went pretty well, but I definitely had some tough moments on Monday at work. I’m struggling through it by reminding myself that I don’t eat sugar anymore-that it’s not one of the foods I eat. I’m trying to find a positive spin, some way of affirming this. I don’t want to say, “I can’t eat sugar,” or even “I don’t.” I want it to be something ‘yes!’. I have to think about that one. It’ll be hard, but that’s good. It’ll give me something to obsess about while I march through detox.
I’m on Day 5 now, and it’s picking at me. I am sitting at my desk, wishing that I lived on an organic farm with only lean protein and low-index carbs to ‘tempt’ my afternoon appetite. But I can already tell that I’m better. I’m not as hungry when I get home, I fall asleep more easily, and my mood is more consistent through the day.
It’s going to be hard, but it’s going to be worth it. The times I’ve been sugar-free have been better than anything teeth-rotting that I’ve put into my mouth, including peanut butter pie—and that is saying something. My skin clears, the puffiness recedes from my face, and my energy level zips up into the troposphere. Yanking the white powder out of my life does more for me than does exercise, organic fruit and days full of sunshine.
I don’t know why I’ve resisted the obvious for so long. I suspect it is denial. I am so powerfully addicted to sugar that my body has worked for years to convince me that I am not. Oh, you can have a little. Oh, you’re thin, you can afford a tiny indulgence. Go on, take it. It’s so good. You’d be so popular if the octopus came back.
Well, I don’t care why I waited 43 years to get a firm grasp of the obvious. I can’t fix those times ‘back there’. I can only move ahead, clean and clear and every day, farther and farther from my addiction.
A the F(ive Days Clean)
I spent last month plotting out my daily mood and weight, hoping that the ‘cycle of my cycle’ might yield some clues as to why I’m out of sorts for 12 days of PMS followed by 7 days of period. For months now, I’ve had 3 bad weeks out of 4, and I was starting to wonder if I had Something Serious going on.
As it turns out, I have nothing to report. I had a bottom at the beginning, but after I got past the early days, I leveled off around the 7 or 8 mark and never went down. I had an angry day, but it was a mere shadow of what normally happens. And the PMS I did experience was, on reflection, just an echo of What Usually Is. So clearly, journaling cures The Angries. And the Sleepies and the Saddies and even some of the Bloating. I gained this cycle, but it was just shy of 2 pounds instead of my usual 3.
So the Quantitative Method apparently folded into the Hawthorne Effect where, in studying myself to see what I could improve, I improved.
But the science is not all wasted, because I discovered something important. For example, I now ‘bottom out’, weight-wise, on Wednesday. I think it’s because I’m doing yoga on Sundays and Tuesdays. It could also be because I weigh in on Saturdays and I’m so freaked out that I’m still in the 154 range that I am super-strict all weekend. This spills into the week until Wednesday when the results start to show and my body starts demanding food. Three weeks in a row, I was Perfectly Pure until Wednesday, and then I caved. Last week, I managed to get through Wednesday only to see Thursday take its place. By the time I got it under control, it was too late to weigh in at Weight Watchers. I actually did something I thought I would never do: I stayed away from the meeting, too embarrassed to weigh in with yet another gain.
I also discovered that I crashed whenever I indulged in sweet snacks. I would let a few jelly beans pass my lips and then I’d be nearly comatose all afternoon. Not only would I be jittery and near unconscious, but I was powerfully hungry immediately after the ‘treat’ and for hours afterward. It was as if the sugar triggered Famished Fatty and set her loose into Candyland. And then, once I'm stuffed to the gills, I'm so shot from the sugar that I cease to function.
Friday night, I had some fat free Reddi-Whip (that does have sugar in it), and 10 minutes later, I couldn’t keep my eyes open. This was no I’m Busy and Therefore Tired exhaustion, either. This was anchors-on-the-eyeballs, organs drooping, wring-me-out/stick-a-fork-in-me wiped out. Even Howard noticed that I couldn’t function properly. I'd been fine all day, and so my accusing finger pointed to the aerosol can in the refrigerator. It couldn't have been the jello. Must have been the white foamy stuff. With great remorse and hoping I was wrong, I marched to the refrigerator, pulled out the rest of the Canned Sweetness and tossed it into the trash.
I have heard for years that sugar is a drug, or that it can behave like one in the body. The human body cannot properly digest refined sugar. It taxes the pancreas, runs roughshod over the adrenal glands and plays havoc with your brain. Speaking personally, sugar is like crack for me, I can never have a little. If I taste it at all, my body lunges forward as if I’ve never stopped eating it. No, that’s not right. It races me to the candy counter, demanding that I catch it up from all the candy it’s lost since my last binge.
I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to prove empirically that I’m addicted to sugar. But I don’t have to. I know what it does to me; it crushes me under its boot and then it goes after my husband. If it’s feeling particularly ornery, it goes after my son. No, not ‘it’. I. Me. I turn into a shrieking nerve cell dancing in a vat of boiling oil.
No matter what the cause, I am tired of it. No amount of sweetness is worth this agony. Whatever pleasure I derived from desserts and ding-dongs, it’s gone now. All that’s left is the grating, incessant need to feed a habit that is long past pleasurable.
So, effective last Saturday, I am sugar-free. It’s going to take some time to get me to 100%, since sugar is a little godlike, in that it’s everywhere. There’s even sugar in WW yogurt --or artificial sweeteners, anyway. In some ways, Splenda and NutraSweet are worse than sugar. They are sweeter, and they make the cravings stronger. So I switched away from my beloved WW yogurt to plain yogurt with fresh fruit.
It is taking some getting used to, and it involves a lot of conversations with myself about how I'll be happier and healthier in the long-term. Howard is a trooper about it, even blending up a mix of strawberries, raspberries and mangoes to ladle over the yogurt. It's nice, but it's no WW, and it's going to be an adjustment.
I’ve also plucked out all the ‘oh they’re fat free, so they’re ok’ snacks, such as jelly beans and Twizzlers. I've even eliminated the lone Jolly Rancher I sometimes allowed myself in the afternoons if I got dry-mouthed. It’s all gone. I am sugar-laden no more.
The weekend went pretty well, but I definitely had some tough moments on Monday at work. I’m struggling through it by reminding myself that I don’t eat sugar anymore-that it’s not one of the foods I eat. I’m trying to find a positive spin, some way of affirming this. I don’t want to say, “I can’t eat sugar,” or even “I don’t.” I want it to be something ‘yes!’. I have to think about that one. It’ll be hard, but that’s good. It’ll give me something to obsess about while I march through detox.
I’m on Day 5 now, and it’s picking at me. I am sitting at my desk, wishing that I lived on an organic farm with only lean protein and low-index carbs to ‘tempt’ my afternoon appetite. But I can already tell that I’m better. I’m not as hungry when I get home, I fall asleep more easily, and my mood is more consistent through the day.
It’s going to be hard, but it’s going to be worth it. The times I’ve been sugar-free have been better than anything teeth-rotting that I’ve put into my mouth, including peanut butter pie—and that is saying something. My skin clears, the puffiness recedes from my face, and my energy level zips up into the troposphere. Yanking the white powder out of my life does more for me than does exercise, organic fruit and days full of sunshine.
I don’t know why I’ve resisted the obvious for so long. I suspect it is denial. I am so powerfully addicted to sugar that my body has worked for years to convince me that I am not. Oh, you can have a little. Oh, you’re thin, you can afford a tiny indulgence. Go on, take it. It’s so good. You’d be so popular if the octopus came back.
Well, I don’t care why I waited 43 years to get a firm grasp of the obvious. I can’t fix those times ‘back there’. I can only move ahead, clean and clear and every day, farther and farther from my addiction.
A the F(ive Days Clean)
posted by Former Fat Girl Gone Skinny | 2:17 PM
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