It all began, to my best estimation, with the marathon. Training for a marathon, it turns out, makes you hungry. To be more specific, training for a marathon makes you insanely crave carbohydrates to the point at which you think you will die (or kill) if you don’t have bread. LOTS of bread. For someone with insulin resistance, this creates a problem. The craving grows. It gets out of control. You try to fight it, but it is not something outside of you. It is within you. And it is winning.
Then, just for fun, you throw in an injury. You need to give it time to heal. It is Christmas. Brilliant. A month off of exercise right as the biggest carbohydrate celebration of the year cranks into full swing. Beautiful. Then add vacation. Add winter. Add snow days. Add illness. Add depression.
Add ten pounds.
Six weeks of trying to get back in gear, and the scale is going UP, not down. This is the point at which I go crazy.
I know all the right things to do. The right things to think. To say to myself. To pray about. I know. I KNOW. But knowing, in my life, doesn’t translate to anything changing, no matter what application I am currently running. There is some problem with the file—some virus, some mutation—that prevents the “losing weight and keeping it off” program from running properly. I don’t deal well with that. Input in should equal input out. Decrease calories and increase exercise should equal weight loss. It should be that simple. It appears to be for everyone else.
But, alas, I am not everyone else. And some days, I really, REALLY hate that, too.