Sunday was the worst–in terms of food. I was debating writing about this earlier and about who may read it, but I don’t care. I’ll just do it anyway.

My family had a get-together to celebrate my birthday and we had fry bread. Those of you who do not know what fry bread is, it is basically a gift from the gods. It’s addicting. It’s like a scone, but not as hard. You can make tacos out of them, cover them in honey,  pb&j, yada yada. I stopped making them for friends because it takes a whole day with making the meal and bread and everything…it’s just tiring and everyone wanted fry bread all the time. It’s good tasting, but tiring to make. So I’m done making them. Anyway, it’s super high carb, as it is mainly white/wheat/corn flour with water. A few weeks ago, I specifically asked my cousin who was in charge of this event to make sure it is low carb and chocolate covered strawberries for dessert/my birthday cake. But no, it was fry bread. Essentially this meant I couldn’t eat anything but whatever meat was being made and lettuce.

On top of my severe lactose-intolerance, we also have people in my family who are celiac. So I decided to make a low carb, gluten-free version of fry bread. It turned out to be around a carb per serving, but definitely not like traditional fry bread. My bread was 100% experiment, as I have never made a low carb bread in my life. Gluten-free, sure. Low carb, no. It was…an experience. I basically made a very thick flax-seed pancake.

Here’s my recipe that I imputed to MyFitnessPal:


The bread broke very easily, tasted very much like flax-seed (which I loved, but much of my family did not enjoy), and filled me up quickly. I probably will not make this again, as I really was only craving the fry bread and this did not save me from the craving. It just made me full and worry about my ketosis. I had two and half servings of this and I basically couldn’t eat anymore.

There was no low carb option for my “cake”, so I didn’t have any. And some of my family members made snarky comments about me not eating any. Well, guess what? I’m not eating that shit. The end. I knew I should have made little cheesecakes for myself, but I assumed too much. Meh. I liked the family, gifts and laughing, but I definitely was not happy about the food. I was, however, still where I needed to be at with carbs by the end of the day–even if how I got there wasn’t the best.

And then I couldn’t even go to a movie night at a cine-bar for a group thing because it started snowing. And it’s still snowing.


Check in

Holy shit. I am out of shape. It makes me so frustrated. This time last year I was running an hour and a half a day, every day. Now I have trouble walking around campus. My twenty-minute walk from the bookstore to my car today was hell. Granted it was all uphill, high ninety degrees and I was wearing pants. I thought maybe my exercise earlier in the week was a fluke because I was tired and chose to do my work outs late in the evening, but no…no, no, no, I am out of shape.

This needs to change now.

I’m off to do sit ups.

And what the hell, the suggested tags for this post includes whale and ocean. No WordPress, I’m not a whale and I don’t belong in the ocean. I just have a lot of fat on my body. >_> And have trouble walking around campus without feeling tired. Yeah…

My weight

It’s funny. I don’t want to weigh myself. My weight, sadly, still seriously influences how I go about my day and how I feel about myself. I know I’m heavy and I’m going to continue to assume I’m heavy until I start fitting smaller pant sizes. I would rather measure my waist than step on a scale. That number hurts. Even when it was far lower.

That number makes me not want to eat. It makes me want to binge. It makes me want to restrict calories. It makes me want to cry. Scream. Run. Run for hours until my feet are raw and my legs and chest are on fire.

I don’t want to look a scale. I see it every time I walk down the hallway and into the kitchen. It just sits there with my height and gender programmed into it, waiting for me to step on it and ruin my self-esteem.

I don’t want my self-worth to be defined by my weight for the day. Or midday. Or evening. Or after I went to the restroom. Or ate.

That’s why I rather focus on my fitness and what I am able to do physically than to step on a scale. My weight doesn’t mean a thing when it comes to how hard I can punch or kick. It doesn’t mean a thing when I can run, cycle, or get through a P90x video. At least I’m not sitting on a couch or sleeping through the day.

At least I’m doing something many people cannot or won’t do.