I know, I feel like an asshole for kowtowing to this whole unboxing fad, but I was so excited and curious about my first Splendid Spoon shipment that I thought it would be fun to share firsthand:
I just tried the Broccoli Hempseed soup. It was delish. And not just good-for-a-premade-healthy-soup delicious, but actually satisfying.
My one complaint is a common pet peeve I have with portioned foods: When you read the nutrition label, it says that each of these containers includes two servings. C’mon now. Half of this little bowl is not enough to sustain anyone larger than a toddler for more than a minute. So when you’re looking at the calories, etc, you have to double it. This still puts you in at under 500 calories for lunch, not to mention all of the green goodness that comes with it. Both servings in that little container pack 40% of your daily iron!
I’m not under the delusion that five days of smoothies and soups per week alone will get me back to my happy weight, but it can’t hurt. One of the most convincing elements in the onslaught of Instagram ads was the testimonial of one woman who said she dropped five pounds in the first week. Again, not expecting miracles, but it gives me hope. Combining a healthy diet with meditation, less alcohol and more exercise (yoga, walking, and resistance band workouts) will hopefully yield some results in time for swimsuit season. Nothing like waiting ’til the last minute!
If this doesn’t work, I’m going to do my Drug Test Diet. That’s when you pretend you’re about to get drug tested for a new job. Spend seven days drinking as much water as you can and excessive exercise to sweat out as much “THC” as you can from your system and you would not believe what it will do for your figure:)
I assured my son that not only was I not “a turd” as he thought I had proclaimed, but that I also wasn’t deterred. He stood next to me as I examined myself, staring at my latest purchase — a full-length mirror — wearing my second latest purchase, vintage overalls. Size medium. They were tight (these are not skinny jean overalls), and they wouldn’t button on the sides. I double-checked the label to make sure the size was correct. I’ve never not fit into medium overalls before, but then again I haven’t worn overalls since college. A psychological blow like this would usually send me face first into a bottle of wine, but there were two things to consider:
My kids. I promised myself when I became a mom that I would not project my crazy body image crap onto them. Just like arguing with my husband, this was something for the “behind closed doors” category. And there, both my kids were, standing next to me. Deep breath.
Today also happens to be the day I started yet another plan to transform myself: BodyBoss. It’s one of those seemingly brilliant one-word-that-should-be-two-words fitness methods that targets women like myself in our Facebook feeds. Hook, line, and sinker.
It’s day one of my 16-week journey, and my ill-fitting overalls came at just the right time. I’m still optimistic that I can complete all 16 weeks, even though today kicked my butt when I quite literally couldn’t kick my own. One of the HIIT circuit exercises was butt kicks and I could. Not. Do it. My best looked more like a hobbling running-in-place motion. Like I’d been clubbed in the shins with a tire iron by my kidnapper while trying to escape, tried to keep going, but froze up in a mix of shock, pain, and fear. So basically how I always look and feel at the gym.
As with any other overwhelming life change, I just need to take it one day at a time. I’m holding myself accountable, but I also told my kids as I shrugged in my Liberty’s, “It’s no big deal. When I put these on in November, they’ll fit.” So I’m now accountable to them as they look forward to seeing me dressed like a farmer (they don’t get fashion yet). And now I’m accountable to you. I won’t post on Facebook every time I check into the gym or complete a training circuit. But you might here from me when I’m particularly proud (or ashamed) of myself… or when I’m feeling a little like a turd.
I’m a very impatient person. I want the Walmart checkout line/Internet connection/school bus on the highway to move faster. I want my post-baby belly gone now. I want this weight (which is quite heavy for being invisible) lifted off my chest yesterday. I wonder which I’ll lose first: The weight or the crazy?
They say it takes nine months for your body to get that way, and that long — or longer — for it to go back to “normal.” I hate They. (Almost as much as I hate the women I see who had babies after me who are already back in their skinny jeans.)
So while I feel paralyzed by my anxiety and while I’m stomping mentally on the inside like a two-year-old because I’m not getting what I want right now, I’m at least thinking about making healthy decisions. Planning — whether it comes to fruition or not — keeps me from pushing my cuticles down past my knuckles. It’s possible none of this stuff will happen, but better to obsess virtually via Internet searches, going blurry-eyed from the bright screen light than to turn inward. It’s dark in there.
Drinking less wine. (I’m not even going to pretend to consider cutting it out altogether. Please.)
Using my yoga pants for their intended purpose.
But it’s not all talk and no walk. I said before that I was going to ask for help, and I did. Unfortunately, the perfect person to help me is not available until mid-December, but I’m going to wait it out. It’s like when you have a craving for a specific dish, but when you get to the restaurant, it’s a 45-minute wait. If you leave and try somewhere else, it will likely take almost as long but the result won’t be nearly as satisfying. So I’m going to hold out another six weeks for the ultimate mental health veggie burrito as it were.
I’ve also discovered the healthy wonder that is spaghetti squash. Not figuratively, but the real thing. The way it transforms when you scoop it out with a spoon? Blows my mind.