I definitely enjoyed my birthday. And by enjoyed, I mean ate some not-so-great food until my body was practically screaming "WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME?" Actually, being honest here, I didn't go completely crazy with the eating. I didn't binge eat or anything like that, which is a victory in and of itself. But I did eat what I wanted, when I wanted. I wrestled back and forth over feeling guilty about this. And here the conclusion I finally came to: I have no reason to feel guilty over 3 days of eating exactly what I wanted to, calorie count be damned. I lived my life. I enjoyed my birthday, which while it was not all about food, did include food. That's not a crime. There are going to be times where I am super hard-core about clean eating and getting all my exercise in, and there are going to be times where I eat what I want and may not get in all the exercise I am accustomed to. And that's okay. As long as it all evens out, as long as there are more good days than bad, and as long as the bad days don't start forming a pattern, it's all perfectly okay. That's how life works. I'm learning to be not so hard on myself.
What I do regret is the Monday following my birthday. I had planned to be back on track, but I ended up eating leftovers and a bunch of movie theater popcorn. Now that was unnecessary. However, I did reign things in and got back on track Tuesday. I knew it would have been oh-so-easy to let things slide on Tuesday too, rationalizing that I weigh in on Wednesdays, so one more day couldn't hurt. But I know that that is exactly how things can start sliding quickly downhill and snowballing. I knew that the scale reading wouldn't be pretty on Wednesday, but I take pride in owning that number every single week, no matter what it says, because there was a time when I would have been perfectly happy just shoving that scale under the sink to avoid bad news. I gained about 4.5 lbs. I'll admit to a momentary pity party. I mean, everyone is entitled to one. I thought, "Why do I gain 4.5 lbs over not even a week of eating what I want when other people can eat what they want every single day and never gain an ounce?" It just didn't seem right. But when I spoke to my nutritionist about it, she said that the very fact that I don't eat that kind of thing every single day is what led to my weight gain. My body reacts to that kind of food as a rebel army force. She said the vast majority of it was probably water weight from all the sodium.
So last Wednesday I was all fired up and motivated. And then freaking life (and my stupid dysfunctional lungs) got in the way again. I caught a cold. I know, no big deal, except it can be a big deal when you have asthma. I fought through my cold like a boss (or perhaps like a stubborn idiot) and kept up my workouts the first few days, despite my breathing issues. Then overnight, my cold morphed into bronchitis, and a couple days (and a fever, chest pain, and coughing up blood) later, I find out I have pneumonia. On the upside, I have managed to stay out of the hospital, despite pneumonia and asthma making for a pretty scary combination. But obviously, no working out. In all honesty, I don't know when I'll be able to work out again. That scares the crap out of me, because now I'm also on steroids, which make me want to eat like a truck driver. Seriously, steroids are the devil. I'm trying very hard to not have an "all or nothing" attitude. It would be super easy to be like, "Screw it. I'm sick. I'm not going to lose weight anyway since I can't work out. I'll eat what I want." Just because I can't work out doesn't mean I shouldn't maintain control over what I can control, which is my eating. This is just another curveball, and I'll deal with it like I have with every other curveball that has come my way (actually, maybe not the best analogy because I am kind of scared of baseball. If an actual curveball came my way, I would probably scream and duck).