Bad Days...Nutritionally Speaking
Can a bad day or two of eating ruin all the good days? Hmmm. I eat pretty spot on Sunday through Thursday, when I'm not stressed out, I plan my meals, my children aren't fighting, there are no girls nights, no celebrations and its not raining. But other than those few stipulations, my diet is pretty on check those five days in a week. But come Friday and Saturday I do what some might call “indulge.” Beer. Candy. Tortilla Chips. Cider. Chocolate. Wine. Ice Cream.
Lets go back to those first days of the week. I am a creature of habit. I eat pretty much the same thing for breakfast and lunch everyday. And dinner is when I have my exploratory foods. I sometimes experiment with making elaborate dishes, but mostly it is just a vast variety of easy to make foods. After dinner I boil water, steep my tea and dabble with work. Relaxing and pretty mellow. By the time Wednesday and Thursday roll around, I feel leaner and maybe even an inch taller. It’s the day I could try on any pair of jeans and feel pretty good about myself.
Out of nowhere, Friday comes along and tempts me with its “TGIF” or as we like to call it “Fucking Friday.” We get a little rowdy in the studio and it seems like a celebration. Now if you go back to my first paragraph, I associate celebration with a little indulgence. A beer or two and some mini York Peppermint patties and I could almost compare it to a backstage pass to Guns N Roses. Indulgences usually don’t start until afternoon or evening on Friday and then carry through (minus my working hours on Saturday) until late Saturday night. Now I am back to where I started last Sunday. 36 hours. 36 hours is all it takes to transform that jeanlicious body into “I don’t give a fuck” yoga pants or those “cute” purple sweatpants.
So here is the predicament that I run into. Maybe I can eat so great those first five days because I allow for indulgences. Maybe my body is exactly where it wants to be. Maybe my mind needs to have guilt free fun. Maybe, just maybe we put way too much emphasis on those perfect days of eating and we stare down those indulgent days like a bully in middle school. Maybe we need to love it all.
I need that time to not be perfect. Believe it or not, I actually live most of my life out of the parameters of perfection. And when perfection lands in my lap, it would probably be compared to being struck by lightening. It isn’t something I plan for or train for it is something that happens when the stars align and the minis did their homework without asking and the hot water heater stays hot. But usually I enjoy my life in reality. I enjoy an extra glass of wine with a friend while laughing so hard I have to really put those pelvic floor muscles to the test. I enjoy looking at food as something to fuel my workouts and add a little happiness at the end of my week. Those bad days might keep me where I am, but I don't think thats such a bad place to be. If we rephrased "Bad Days" to "I Love My Life Days," we might just be one step closer to perfection.