6 Days and Counting.

I’d honestly rather not write a post about how I am trying to pick up all the pieces. All the self-pitying bullshit has got to get old to anyone reading. But that is all there is to write about, because that it all I have been doing, figuring out how to pick up the pieces. You think I’d be good at it, I mean it has been less than a year since I did it last. At least I’ll spare you a story about the bedsores I’m well on my way to developing.

If any good is to come out of this, it would be the no-work diet I’ve found myself on. I lost 4 pounds last week. I wouldn’t doubt if I’ve lost the same this week. It is all quite simple. The thought of food makes me feel sick. I try to eat something because I know I should, and I feel even more sick. At some point I just stop thinking about food (quite a novelty for the girl who tends to thinks about food non-stop). But given the alternative – gallons of ice cream and subsequent inches on my thighs – I’ll take the weight loss.

I tried on a new dress last night for Laura and Max. Max told me I looked hot. Then he corrected himself, smokin’ hot. A compliment from my best friend’s husband is as good as any. And while he is at it, he can go ahead and tell Boston what he is missing out on.

Only downside is that I trained hard for a half-marathon that I am running in 6 days. It is a race that I have no desire to run now. Putting on my sneakers is torture. Add to the fact that I have no energy due to the lack of food I’ve been eating and I’m one big old running mess.

He’s not going to be there waiting at the finish line anymore, but I know he’ll look up the results. I know what he thinks I am capable of running. I almost feel like it would be more satisfying to let him see me fck it up, to have him feel like he was partially to blame for something he knows I worked so hard for. I won’t though.

6 days and counting (both forward and backward). Laura is forcing me to run tonight. And I will make myself eat lunch and dinner today.