Despite my sacred vow never to shop at a Lane Bryant ever again, I found myself picking through their clearance racks this weekend. I had a very good reason though. I was helping a friend find clothes for her father’s funeral. I did not purchase anything myself, so we are still technically broken up. It was more like seeing an ex at a party and being polite enough to make small talk, but remaining chaste enough not to jump back in bed with him.
I eventually touched almost every single object of clothing in that store searching for something that did not make my friend look like a goth hooker and was available in her size. It brought back all the trauma I used to experience shopping at LB, knowing that if we didn’t find something there we were pretty much screwed. The only other option was to buy a black sheet, wrap it around her like a sari and claim she’d converted to hinduism, despite the fact that the funeral mass was held in a Catholic church. We eventually found something after some yelling and door slamming (which was completely justified) and Robert Smith of The Cure did not try to pick her up at the funeral.
Traveling always brings on eating challenges. I was 2 for 3 on food battles this weekend. I skipped the bourbon chicken and smoothies my friends had for lunch at the food court. We needed to eat in preparation for the dastardly Lane Bryant shop which was as exhausting mentally as running a marathon is physically. However, I was a bit blindsided when we went out to dinner and ended up having a four course meal – bread, appetizers, soup, and the main course. The more people I eat with, the more I eat. People may be afraid to eat alone at restaurants, but it does wonders for your portion sizes. My friend is actually very sensitive to my new eating habits and goes out of her way to make sure there is food for me when I visit. But there are certain social situations you just can’t avoid during times like these that end up making you eat more.
I redeemed myself later though. At the luncheon after the funeral there was a dessert table that was full of chocolate cupcakes, heavenly pieces of angel food cake, chocolate chip cookie bars, German chocolate cake, and silver foil cupcake holders filled with cheesecake and topped with gooey cherries. I foolishly chose a seat that directly faced this monument to gluttony, staring at it for about as long as an episode of Grey’s Anatomy. Remarkably I walked out of the church gymnasium with only eating one cupcake. I typically think willpower is overrated when it comes to dieting, but it was sheer force of will that prevented me from greasing my tummy with butter wedges and belly sliding down the table surface catching all those treats with my mouth.
The strangest thing about the weekend was my bladder seemed to take the day off. I went to the bathroom at about 4:00pm after arriving in town and didn’t have to go again until 9:00am the next morning. I even drank 3 glasses of water at dinner. I was afraid I was suffering kidney failure and they’d be holding my funeral later in the week. I mentioned this to my brother today and he said that my body was retaining the water because I had started lifting weights the day before my trip. The only similar story I’ve ever heard is when a friend visited the Middle East and drank bottles of water all day, but didn’t have to pee because she sweated out all the water as sweat.
I was looking forward to my first kickboxing class tonight to start working off these mourning calories, but the weather gods decided to dump a load of snowy diarrhea on the city and class was cancelled. So, it’s gonna’ be a bad week for my weight loss. With the extra food I ate this weekend, any water I’m retaining from lifting weights, and now my canceled kickboxing class, I would be seriously surprised if I don’t gain this week.
The good thing is that I’m aware of these problems and I’m going to work immediately to get back on track. This is one of the advantages in weighing daily. I can start damage control before the problem gets too out of hand. It’s a lot easier to lose three or four pounds than it is to lose forty. There’s no way I’m going to let myself get back over 200. Nuh-uh. Ain’t happening.