Monday, 9 August 2010

Hard habit to break

The streak continued over the weekend with a three mile run on Saturday and a nice scenic walk on Sunday afternoon. Sunday night is when things took a turn for the worse.

I have a buddy. We’ll call him Geordie. Geordie and I are each trying to pursue our health and fitness goals while finishing up our dissertations. We eat healthfully when away from each other, but when we get together, things most often take a turn for the worse. It doesn’t help that Geordie is a very good procrasti-baker.

For instance, there was the Cookie Dough Disaster in the spring which nearly killed both of us and an unfortunate third party who actually did vomit from the sugary excess of it all. Granted he had also been drinking, but it was mostly because of the cookie dough. It should tell you something about our collective mentality that the cookie dough never made it into the oven to form actual cookies. Yes, we are that sad.

And now there is the Pizza Incident. We made plans to have dinner together on Sunday. Since it was the end of the weekend and we’d both been doing well all week, Geordie and I decided to have pizza for dinner. But Geordie has this weird thing where he always wants garlic bread along with pizza.

Enter the large pizza and a side of cheesy garlic bread.

I had a quarter of the garlic bread while Geordie had the rest and we each ate half the pizza. I didn’t want to eat half the pizza. I wanted to stop after slice two, but I kept eating because it was there, I had helped pay for it and Geordie kept eating it so why shouldn’t I.

I’m an idiot. And my stomach let me know that.

I was experiencing a lot of discomfort. Geordie too but less so. I dubbed my food baby Cibo (the Italian word for food).

Trying to go to bed last night was a joke. I typically lay on my stomach or side when falling asleep. I avoid laying on my back because it encourages me to snore (hey, at least I acknowledge that I do snore). Laying on my stomach was out. Laying on my right side was impossible because it made the pain worse. Therefore I laid on my left side with the duvet packed gently around my stomach because for some reason that made it feel better.

It took a while before I finally fell asleep. When I woke up this morning there wasn’t anymore pain, but my stomach was feeling rather sensitive and I had some mild heartburn. I still made it out for my three miler today, but I’ve been trying to take it easy with my food intake so as not to upset the stomach any further.

I want to resign from the Clean Plate Club so badly. Unfortunately, I think it’s like the Hotel California – you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.

11 comments:

Jamoosh said...

Oh my gosh - you are both enablers. Time to trade Geordie in!

Viper said...

I think you may be right about the Clean Plate Club. There is no resignation, other than to be resigned to your fate of a clean plate. Feel better. Cheers!

SteveQ said...

What caught my attention was the word "duvet." That made me a little queasy, not pillow sham queasy, but it's still pretty sickeningly girly.

It's so unbelievably hot and humid here that I refuse to cook anything and am eating a lot of junk just because all the prep needed is tearing open the package. I'll eat right when I'm not thinking I'm in New Orleans.

Jamie said...

I've done that too many times. Hope you feel better and detox quickly!

Keith said...

You realize, of course, that all this eating is sublimating your desire to have wild and crazy sex with Geordie. So get protected had have at it. Just don't frighten the horses. Your stomach will thank you.

And while I'm at it, you say "the cookie dough never made it into the oven to form actual cookies." like it's a bad thing. Think of it this way, there you are, saving all that innocent batter from a firey death.

Glaven Q. Heisenberg said...

Keef is right. Food baby? Fuck that! And by "that" I mean Geordie. Then you'll get a real baby, unless you do it LuMu-style (as made famous in Mister Moose's "Special" Goose. CAUTION: Never do it LuMu-style if you have a food baby because you might be about to give birth and Geordie might end up poking the food baby. There. This is officially the most disgusting parenthetical aside ever).

But good job keeping the streak going. And why no "Later, gators"? Is your gastric distress so bad you think you're gonna die - that there'll be no later?

You're going to make your food baby an orphan? O, the poop-manity!

(Well, not technically an orphan, because I think you could make a good case that Geordie is the father ... in a way.)

Razz said...

sadly, the title of your post reminded me of a sugary, sappy song by Chicago.

You're getting heartburn from a pizza? And you think I'M old???

SteveQ said...

FYI: My tales of races all sound like the Bataan Death March, but I could make a trip to the convenience store sound that way. I wouldn't run for hours in a fetid and festering swamp if it wasn't fun!

Deb said...

I completely get the whole "I paid for half of it, so I'm eating my fair share, damn it!" mentality. Never, never, never let anyone named Geordie out eat you...Eat you OUT - now that's different, and to be encouraged, in fact. Also, that particular act will NOT get you pregnant and it's ever so much more enjoyable than the horror that befell me in "Mr. Mooses's 'Special' Goose". I STILL can't sit down after that fiasco.

Deb said...

I completely get the whole "I paid for half of it, so I'm eating my fair share, damn it!" mentality. Never, never, never let anyone named Geordie out eat you...Eat you OUT - now that's different, and to be encouraged, in fact. Also, that particular act will NOT get you pregnant and it's ever so much more enjoyable than the horror that befell me in "Mr. Mooses's 'Special' Goose". I STILL can't sit down after that fiasco.

Deb said...

Dur!!! Double comment much? Consider me fucktarded...or just addled from too much moose lovin'.