Sunday, May 17, 2015


I'm calling a mulligan.
Week 5 was rubbish.

Just a taste of my crappy-diet week 

The run down:


After a full day of teaching, I hopped on tready.  My knee ached so much that I crapped out after a mile. Even with the brace on it hurt so much. I walked two more miles, but did not feel worked out. That afternoon, I got a chiropractic alignment that made breathing a wee bit more comfortable. Think, "ahhhh", versus the previous sound I emitted, "wheeze", which is only good if I'm saying the first syllable of the best band in the world (Weezer).


I made an appointment with the doctor to get my knee checked out. Let it be noted that we are a one car family. I had to bicycle almost two miles to my appointment, where the nurse found my blood pressure a point too high (which can only be a result of the ridiculous number that popped up on her scale: 182! WTW?! I blame the fact that it was midday and I was fully clothed. And that scale sucked and its screen was smudge-y and I never liked it anyway.)

To top off my trip, the doctor diagnosed me with Runner's Knee.

DOC: You see, it's common in people with wider hips--


DOC: No really, women's legs don't aim straight down, they curve in at the knee which often causes the knee cap to slide around and rub uncomfortably. ... You look confused.

ME: My knee cap slides around? Like loose change in my leg-purse?

DOC: Um...not exactly.

ME: What's the treatment? A new titanium one? Is this the first step to becoming a Robowriter? Oooh. Is there an adamantium option?

DOC: You have to stay off of it...but I can see by your face that you don't want to do that. So you should pay attention to your body, do leg strengthening exercises and swap out running for cross-training when necessary. Bicycling is especially good, because it strengthens your quads and that will protect your knee from further injury.

ME: [deflated] Okay.

Yeah, so let-down of the year. I biked back home.


Work. And a pinterest leg workout. Then, I took my daughter to a church activity, but I didn't eat anything. Not the brownie, not the jello salad. Not the chicken salad on a crescent roll. I didn't even eat the fruit. Not because of my ironclad will, but because I was full from my dinner before the activity--two chocolate-glazed donuts. Ugh. If you're new to my blog, then you might not know that I am the worst stress-eater. You also might not know that I am hella stressed all the time. What with teaching, grad school, writing, querying my memoir, being a mom and wife, conferences, CUWP responsibilities, church callings, etc. etc. etc.


This was the first day of a three-day, intense writing conference. It was brilliant. I learned so much, got some great feedback on my writing, and encouragement to keep querying my manuscript. My mentor writer loved--LOVED--my memoir and I pretty much broke down in tears, because I was thrilled to hear it. I didn't eat junk on this day, and I ran 3-miles before the workshop.


Awesome day. Long day. Like 16-hour long day. I crammed in the classes, intensives, and writer mixer, and sustained myself on adrenaline (sparked by my love for writing and writers) and conference meals: taco salad for lunch and pork chops for dinner. Not to mention the 1.5 servings of tiramasu that I gorged on to keep from biting my nails off. STRESS, people. I have it. I'm the embodied PSA for it.

Storymakers kicked butt this year. 


Shorter day, but not by much. I ate better during breakfast and lunch AND (or BUT depending on your POV) after another stretch of classes, I came home, ate Papa John's, and ran 4 miles, walked one. Since I started widening my gait, my knee hasn't bothered me as much, so I'm kinda glad the doc gave me the info about my "curvy, ultra-sexy, there's-nothing-wrong-with-your-proportions, you-might-as-well-be-Marilyn-baby!" hips. His words.

Also, on Saturday, I finally bought a new scale. (Remember, mine was acting all indecisive.) I stood on it at the end of the day, at the end of my 3-day conference and stressmageddon, at the end of a week of PMS cravings and a sports injury diagnosis.  I mounted the thing then I threw it in the trash.

Screw that scale.

This week doesn't count. 

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