April's CR Diary

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June 6, 2005

And the Moral of the Story Is...

Even I, Supreme Early Riser, Queen of the Dawn, Mistress of the Morning Shift Change Leaflet, She Who Does More Before Nine In The Morning Than Most People Do All Day, sometimes do not feel like getting up.

This was one of those mornings. I couldn't get to sleep last night until after 11, even though I took melatonin and took two (not one, two) three mile walks and took a nice relaxing shower. Very unusual for me to have trouble falling asleep... usually I fall asleep fine but wake up at 2 am feeling wide awake and ready to start that day. That's when I call night shift nurses at work. Anyway, couldn't sleep. So when the alarm cat went off at 4:40, I wasn't sure I wanted to get up.

The nice thing about alarm cats is that they won't snooze until you feed them. I've trained my cats to wake up at 4:40 and howl at me until I get out of bed, open their cans of cat food, and serve. Usually I just pop happily out of bed before the cat alarm goes off, but even on days when I'm tired, there's no chance of sleeping past the meow. It gets a little dicey around daylight savings time change because the cats don't know they're supposed to reset, but with a few days of training they usually get the hang of the new schedule.

So I got up, fed the cats, poured myself a Diet Dr. Pepper, and contemplated whether to take a shower or fall back to sleep on the couch listening to the BBC.

I was feeling distinctly foggy, sleepy and unmotivated. It's Monday, the day when I usually blast into my weekday routine full of enthusiasm (I am not being sarcastic -- I love my job and am excited to go to work.) but this morning I wasn't feeling like moving. So I decided that desperate times require desperate measures.

I put on my Snoop-Doggy-Dogg CD, the one where he does a duet called "Signs" with Justin Timberlake. This is one of my favorite songs these days, for reasons that will no doubt be incomprehensible to most if not all of my readers. I find that without fail, when I am feeling down or tired or just plain blah, this song always picks me up. By the first chorus of "Don't think about it, boy leave her alone," I am invariably feeling bouncy. And by the time Snoop gets to "Come here baby tell me why you leaving," I am dancing around. Sometimes I pick up my twenty pound tabby cat and dance with him, which he accepts as a necessary part of life since I've been doing it since he was a five pound kitten.

Now you might think that in a small apartment, putting a Snoop-Dogg and Justin Timberlake song on continuous repeat at 4:40 am would be considered an act of war on the neighbors. Before you start feeling sorry for the couple next door to me, let me assure you that I played the music very, very softly, and danced with the cat very quietly. I am a very nice, quiet person, and would never want to incur the wrath of my neighbors, who have been known to invite elephants to walk across their living room floor at odd hours.

So I played my happy song, took my shower, and set about my morning activities. Am pleased to report that I am back to going to the gym, after the short break at the end of the contract campaign. Did forty minutes this morning on the treadmill at 4.3 mph and an incline of 5. Also did a ton of push-ups. I am still doing girl push-ups but I can do a lot of them now, as opposed to pre-CR when I could barely squeeze out three. My arms are starting to look skinny, so I want to make sure that I have a little muscle. And I don't want MR to worry about my bones.

I felt great after completing all of my morning activities, and took another shower, making it three in twelve hours. One last night upon returning from my second walk of the day and before going to bed, one when I first woke up, and a third after my workout. I just can't stand to a) go to bed sweating b) leave the house without showering and washing my hair c) go to work after working out without re-showering if it's hot out. So three showers in twelve hours. No wonder I go through so much shower gel. My hair stylist will be pleased to know that I only wash my hair once every twenty-four hours... to do more would be potentially damaging.

The moral of the story is: sometimes, when you don't feel like doing it, just do it anyway. Get up and go. Have you ever thought to yourself, "Gee, I really wish I *hadn't* gone to the gym. I wish I had stayed in bed feeling like a slug instead." No, you never say that. You stay in bed feeling like a slug then think, "If I had gone to the gym, I might not feel like such a slug. Now I feel like a slug who lacks self-discipline and motivation."* (* This is not meant in to in any way impune the character of slugs, who I'm sure are very nice once you get to know them. I hear they like to drink beer. )

Here's another fable for you, it's called The Little Girl Who Exercised A Lot Before Going To The Carb Castle.

Once upon a time in a galaxy far, far away, there was a little redheaded girl who wanted to go for a walk. It was a beautiful day, so she went for a big long walk. When she got home from her big long walk, she decided to go read with her mother's cat, because her mother was out of town and her mother's cat likes to read. So she picked up her very big book that her very brilliant Orange One gave her and went off to her mother's house.

Little did she know that she was entering The Carb Castle. She opened the door to the fridge, looking for some cold water or even Crystal Light. And she saw The Hummus.

Roasted Red Pepper Hummus, that is.

Then she looked to her left and saw Low Calorie Sugar Free Flatbreads.

The spirit of the hummus and flatbread, combined with her low glycogen levels from the long walk, overwhelmed her, and the Little Girl ate some hummus and flatbreads.

Now the entire time she was eating them, she thought to herself, MR would not approve of this hummus and flatbread. In fact, if he were here, he would be lamenting the extra minutes that I am shaving off my youth and health by eating this flatbread and hummus. I could be home eating eggwhites, or even non-fat yogurt, but no, I am here eating carbs carbs carbs!

The Little Girl ate 380 calories worth of hummus and flatbread and felt a bit like she was in a coma... a carb coma, if you will. She laid down with her very heavy book and her mother's very sweet cat and wondered if she might be able to locate a fairy godmother (or fairy godfather? I think they have those in New Jersey, though they get really annoyed if you leave in the "fairy" part -- you're supposed to just say "godfather." Or perhaps I am thinking of that radio program I heard about Martin Scorsesse) who could cast a magic spell that would relieve her of carb cravings forever.

The moral of the story is: Don't exercise a lot and then enter the Carb Castle. I was so stuffed from my carb extravaganza that I didn't eat anything else all day, so stayed right around my calorie requirement, though not so good on nutrition (I didn't have the heart to DWIDP it, but the total calories were 1040. eggwhites flax oil half cup cottage cheese fruit yogurt kale glass of wine hazelnuts carb extravaganza.) Then I woke up at midnight starving. Luckily, I had nothing tempting in the house, so I ate a handfull of grape tomatoes, re-brushed my teeth, and went back to bed. The moral of that story is: don't keep tempting foods in the house. I don't know how people who have to live with non-CR folk do it. If I had tempting food in the house all the time I'd probably eat it.

Wow, I have a lot of fables and morals today. I feel like I've been getting a lot of moral support as of late, and that's no doubt encouraging me to have more morals.

Today is my doctor's appointment day, and I am printing out the note that MR wrote me describing what CR is and why it's good. I am strangely not apprehensive... I will probably clutch the articles that MR sent me and my note as if they were a paper security blanket, but I'm not all that worried about it. The doctor can't stop me from doing CR, and who knows, maybe he won't be a total idiot and will actually be supportive.

I've had this strange urge lately to convert people to CR. Usually I try to keep a lid on my missionary zeal, but sometimes I just feel my claws going into someone and I have an intense desire to tell them about the miracle of eggwhites. I was talking with this really nice redheaded woman the other night at that party and thinking to myself,
if you convert to CR, we could be twins. We had already spent a moment bonding over Hello Kitty, so it seemed the next logical step. Then this guy was saying something about protein and how his girlfriend is a vegetarian so he eats vegetarian most of the time but doesn't feel good if he doesn't get enough protein and I was thinking to myself: eggwhites. You need eggwhites. And you might even like MR's whey protein, which I bet he would give you a sample of just to be nice.

I can't just bust out the DWIDP in the middle of a potluck and start analyzing everyone's nutritional issues -- even the most accepting of folk find that a bit off-putting. It's a slow, gradual process in which one never criticizes or instructs but leads by example. If people want to know, they'll ask. Till then, I'll just try to bring the best, healthiest dish to the potluck.

Just wait till I throw a dinner party. Then we got 'em.

Posted by april at June 6, 2005 8:05 AM

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Posted by: fruitgirl at June 6, 2005 10:35 AM

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