stalking the elusive b word

I've lost 11 pounds. Frankly, I can't say "since ____" because I don't know. Sometime mid-to-late January I got back on the WW wagon. It's been a bit wobbly for me, and I've had to replace a couple of completely shot wheels, but right now I'm feeling relatively stable.

Balance. Let's call it the B word. I am not intimate with the B word, though I would like to be. I would like the B word to share my bed and know all of my secrets and love me anyway. I would like the B word to ride along in my pocket every day and, if the need should arise, hop up to my shoulder and reassure me that I'm not going to have a pissy fit if faced with food choices that seem overwhelming and trigger the petulant Bacchus in me. But if I approach it this way, than the B word is some external force that is going to swoop in and save me from myself and, let's face it, that t'ain't gonna happen. I need a B word t-shirt. I need a B word tattoo.

Just like the last time I was on this journey, the weight came off relatively quickly in the beginning--hell, I've shocked my system into consistent exercise and almost completely cut out white sugar and flour (well, save for the occasional piece of chocolate and the dessert I indulged in last Saturday) and I've ramped up the veggies and fruit, so it HAS to react somehow. The thing is, just like last time, I'm getting a little obsessive, esp. with the whole exercise thing. I worked out hard Saturday, a little on Sunday, hard on Monday & yesterday, and last night my muscles were screaming. Yes, yes, I know I need to give them a day of rest. Today will be that day. I think.

I woke up this morning--a frigid one at that, gray and snow dusted--and my first thought was "I should go walk Daisy. That will be mellow but at least it's something." Then I stuck my toe out from underneath the covers and felt a blast of cold air and my next thought involved burrowing deeper into our delicious bed and locating the two minute snooze on my alarm clock. (Yep, two minutes--who the hell thinks that constitutes a snooze? Target be damned. I didn't even notice that the cheapo travel clock didn't have a night light until after I'd bought it. Stupid Michael Graves and his cute designs. I can be such an impulse buyer.) Now here I am, two mugs of coffee later, still in my robe, writing. I'm not going out into the cold this morning. I need to rest today. My sinuses are acting up, and I know that I need to just push the water and watch the points and be mellow. But then I think, well, I could bundle up and go walking at lunch today...

Here's the crux of it, I believe: Exercise allows me to beat myself up less if I do slip and eat something, er, questionable. Okay, not questionable--bad. Fat laden. Void of nutrition. I was so hungry before my workout on Monday that I ate a mini Snickers bar just to provide myself with a little fuel. It was the only food I could find in the office. I knew it wasn't much, and that I would burn it off within the next hour, but still, when I took that first bite I almost spit it out. I chewed. Guilt rose in me. My stomach grumbled. I had to work out now. Two bites and it was gone. And I was running to the gym.

So I'm still in search of the elusive B word. I'm working on making consistently better choices food wise so that I don't feel the need to burn at least 700 calories per workout. The voice of my body is becoming more familiar to me instead of some foreign tongue that I can't understand and, consequently, ignore. But it's still barely a whisper, and it still has to rise above the incessant bellowing that is my inner critic, my enemy, my oldest friend. Some friendships aren't worth cultivating, though. I think it's time me and ol' bellow had a little chat about what constitutes a friend.