It Said “Eat Me!”, So I Did

Do you know what happens when you have fifteen 4 year old children running around your backyard, bouncing around a water slide bouncy castle thingy, and hyped up on sugar?

You have the birthday party of AWESOME, that’s what.

Leading up to the party of awesomeness, I was out shopping, preparing, planning and… Not running. No, I was not working out, and feeling the stress creep in as I moved less and ate more. Oh my, it was sucking, but the time ran out, and the heat of the day meant that running at lunch was a risk. I am NOT fit enough yet to run when it is above 30 degrees Celcius. I am also not that crazy.

Wait, I take that back… Give me a few more months and ask me to reiterate that when I am dodging ice puddles on the Ottawa River pathway.

To summarize, it was basically not a good week for my diet. My diet went on vacation. Without me.

Bastard.

My sugars stayed within a good range, but I felt myself slipping up and having snacks at night, or wanting a second helping. Eating my stress as we got ready to be hosts with the most, so to speak. Thankfully, I did not gain weight; in fact I maintained my loss of seven pounds, which made me happy. I just didn’t add to my fitness, or gain any mileage. Boo-urns.

September seems way too close right now.

But then, Sunday hit, and as I came to a screaming halt at about 5 pm, I sat, covered in glitter, feet hurting like &%#@, toys and streamers and balloons everywhere, trying not to squish strung out kids alternately vibrating and crying. I slumped in my chair, still hungry even though I had consumed several hotdogs (sans bun), a hamburger, a bunch of pasta salad, some carrot sticks, potato salad, an ear of corn, a handful of strawberries and two pieces of pineapple.

Stresssssssssss…….. Thy game tongue speaketh of trickery and folly. Nay I say, may nay doth my body listen. Thou art a snake amongst men, verily I shake my fist, but all in vain, for thou has bested me.

Oh dear… that was terrible.

So, how did I cope with the culmination of a crazy, hectic and overwhelming week, you ask? Did I right myself, dust off my Brooks and recommit? Did I take my shaking hand away from the fork and sternly back away from the food?

I did not. For staring me in the face was my son’s birthday cake, which was whispering “You want me. You need me. You can relax with me… One bite, sweetie… Just one!”

Birthday cake is evil like that.

It’s not like I hadn’t had any along the way. I made the %$#@ cake. And, well, you have to taste test the batter, the finished cake, then the frosting, and the candies you bought for the wee tiny caterpillar feet.

I maintain that the jujube tasting was strictly to make sure they weren’t stale. Yeah. (They weren’t). So I knew exactly what the cake tasted like. I did not need another piece to ensure the quality was good.

In my defense, I made my 4 year old a caterpillar cake for his party. It turned out well. He loved it. The kids loved it! The parents asked where I got it made. I humbly told them I made it, and endured the “Oh wow! You must’ve taken classes! Ooh!” Little do they know…

Every year, I vow to buy his cake next year. But, I know that next year will roll around and I will get the urge to be creative and make his cake myself to save money and impress everyone with my culinary art skillz. Yeah…

I am not meant to be a cake decorator, folks. Not at all. At least one piping bag went flying the morning of the party as my hands cramped and my patience evaporated like my resolve to eat well did.

But right then, with all that piling up of tension and hurrying and craziness, that cake was my Waterloo, and I stuffed it into my sugar-addicted face like it was ambrosia. *mfff-wrfff-mrfff* (Translation: “Help, the buttercream is winning!”)

I realized, when the fog lifted and the empty plate sat in front of me, that I really needed to get back on the horse. I groaned and wiped the crumbs off my bosoms, guilty and sated. I felt stiff, sore, grumpy, and understanding that this kind of life stuff is not an excuse to eat like crap. Stress is not an reason to let my food addiction win. I have to be stronger. I beat myself up for a bit before we forced ourselves to finish cleaning up the detritus of a successful shindig for my oldest child, then we collapsed like a house made of cards caught in a stiff wind.

On Monday, both hubby and I felt bloated, tired and sluggish. I dragged my butt back to bed with a killer migraine, and by Tuesday hubby did the same. Wednesday I was worse, and buried my head under my comforter and told the world to go away.

I may have sworn a lot while doing so (out of kiddo earshot). I felt terrible.

We realized, both Dearest and I, that slipping off the wagon food-wise had given us a full on case of GI Tract fallout. We were processing all the crap we ate on the weekend, and our bodies were reacting accordingly, since that stuff (hotdogs, processed foods, sugarsugarsugar) isn’t in our lives much anymore. Literally, my tummy was poking out, so was his, and we couldn’t stop burping and *ahem* passing gas. The kids were feeling it a bit too, I think. That and the slow withdrawal of sugar in their veins making them crabby for a couple of days. We don’t deny our kids treats, but it is not an everyday thing, nor do we gorge.

So Wednesday we did the Running Room 20 Minute Challenge with the kids (My son ran half of it!), and then today I went running out the door at work for my noon jog physically feeling the pull towards Alexandra Bridge and the river pathways. I. Needed. To. Move.

It felt really good, even if it was a slow pace, and I took it easy, since I did not want to re-aggravate any of the nastiness from the beginning of the week. (Aside: I now know why they call it “the trots” when applied to runners. Augh!)

I also ate better most of this week, once I was able to again, and am back to normal. Ahhh.

So… suck it, Evil Birthday Cake. Next year maybe I won’t give in, even if I do get wild and crazy and attempt a Monster Truck or Dinosaur cake. Eep.

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