From the No Shit, Sherlock files: Clazza posts a link today to this BBC article that makes the starting revelation: Almost half of adults turn to food to stifle feelings, of boredom, loneliness and stress.
. . .
I think I have a wee masochistic streak. I made a batch of my infamous Chocolate Banana Muffins for no other reason than to torture myself. I wanted to see how serious I was about staying on track, so I went out and bought the bananas, the butter, the eggs, the flour, the vanilla, the deliciously caramelly brown sugar, the two 100g bars of chocolate.
I had never creamed butter and sugar together so beautifully. My arm ached from the stirring, but I was rewarded with the most gorgeous golden fluffiness. I wanted to stick my finger in to taste. Correction, I wanted to shove my whole face into the bowl and inhale the whole freakin thing. Then I would scoot around on the kitchen floor trying to get the bowl off my head with my tongue flapping madly, licking ever last drop.
I have these taunting conversations with myself, like Betcha can't resist. Betcha eat a big spoonful. It's not that cliched "you useless fat chick" negative talk, it is simply me having a contest with myself, trying to see how strong my will is. Betcha can't open two blocks of chocolate and break into little chunks without eating it. Can so! Well ok, betcha can't help licking yer fingers! I washed em right away! In your FACE!
The house filled with the smell of slowly melting chocolate. It was sweet agony. The muffins looked scrumptious, I kinda swirled the batter after I poured it in to each case, so they rose in perfect little domes. I turned them out and just looked at all those chocolate chunks trapped in cake and let the dialogue rage in my head.
Then today I brought em to work and gave them to the blokes and laughed to their inane muffin jokes (your muffins are so moist, I could eat your muffins any time) and was all smug about not eating one myself.
I am constantly having these little competitions with myself, I don't know if it is a healthy way of motivating, but it is fun and ridiculous. Fun and ridiculous works for me.
. . .
Almost chucked a tantrum at the gym on Thursday night. I hopped on the scale at it said 93.5 kilos. What? STILL? What the hell is going on? I actually STOMPED on the scale I was so annoyed. But then I remembered:
- My last weigh-in, three weeks earlier, had been in the morning.
- Of those three weeks, I had only actually been Eating Beautifully for the past five days
- And before that I was eating a garbage load of chocolate and way too much toast
Again with the Denial issue. How often have you got all indignant at the scale without really acknowledging what you've been putting in your gob? Sure there are weeks when you genuinely have been on fire and it doesn't show up, but there are times when you know deep down you've cut a few corners or slipped in a few choccies.
It's amusing to think I somehow thought that five days would have made a dramatic impact. But after months and months of crapness I guess I thought I'd be rewarded for finally saying no to a few cakes. I thought my trackies would just scream MY GOD YOU'RE SO SKINNY and fall down right there in the middle of the gym as the scale swung round to 75 kilos.
Maybe next week then.