Thirteen weeks out from surgery, and here are the numbers I care about:
- Weight: 313
- Blood Sugar: 109
I’m walking a little more, but I still haven’t hit the gym. The part of me that rationalizes wants to tell you that it’s because of six classes and four stacks of essays. The part of me I’ve trained to call bullshit on myself – the part of me I’m trying to access every time I write one of these – knows it’s because I have absolutely no gym habits, including the habit where I make the gym a priority. I’ll work on it. Shut up.
Still haven’t hit a gallon of water in a day yet. I’ve cleared 100 ounces several times. I’m kinda not giving a shit. A gallon is a lot of damn water. Oh and yesterday I was at the supermarket buying lunch between schools, and I saw a thing that was like a Lunchables only with better ingredients and it just sounded really good, so I bought it and ate it, and it was okay, and it filled me up. I scanned the barcode to log it in my app, and it was 300 calories. Five tiny crackers, five tiny pieces of cheddar, five tiny slices of turkey. Normally I get a little turkey and some berries and it’s literally half the calories, and cheaper. Lunchables are the devil.
I’m in a grim mood this morning. I woke up at 3am because my left foot felt like someone was stubbing out a cigarette on it. Every five seconds. This happens every so often going back to when I was a kid in my late teens, early twenties. I’m told this is nerve damage in my feet as a result of being overweight. I have so much grading to do today, and it’s not getting done now because by the time I’m home, I’ll be ready to crash. I’m nodding off as I type this, and I so want to cancel my classes and sleep all day, but there’s too much I need to go over with my students, so I’m gonna force myself to stay awake and feel the cigarette being crushed into my foot every five seconds. I’m blaming this on the fucking Lunchables.
Here, have a graphic:
