Bad Poet, No Biscuit

My dietary shifts are generally going well - I’m eating a lot more vegetables, especially raw ones; I’ve been ensuring that I drink at least two litres of fluids a day every day; and am being more punctilious than ever in making sure that my grains are whole (where available).

I’ve also largely cut out refined sugars, choosing to eat dried fruit in their place, or just go without.

And yet biscuits. Mmmh. They are a major weakness in this otherwise annoyingly virtuous pattern. Somehow, last night, I persuaded myself that an “emergency” necessitated biscuit- and crisp-eating. That said emergency could have been obviated with some planning and organisation on my part was by-the-by. At least they were hobnobs, I suppose...

Last night’s literal running-around saw not only a little victory or two (“snack food before the show? Why yes, I’ll have a wrap and a smoothie, thanks...”) but several little disappointments. I have not been listing them (getting taxis, not losing weight, days when I say “screw salad, I’m having bacon!") as I generally just get dispirited when that happens - historically ingrained memes leading me to say: “Yes, you’re right - I’m worthless, let me prove that to everyone, especially me...” I discovered, all too late in life, that saying “well done, you cycled into work once this week!” works better than “lazy git, you caught the bus four times this week - shaaaaame...” That’s not to say that stick doesn’t work for some extremely short-term goals, but I’m clearly more of a carrot person.

If that’s even a thing.

It was a healthy evening for lots of other reasons, though - the only cab taken was at the end of the night, when buses had vanished; I had lots of social contact (including hugs, random jabbering, and positive strokes from people who are good at sharing that kind of thing); I got to holler admiration at one of my spoken word idols; and then there was the dancing.

Wednesday was supposed to be a rest day, so no physio, gym, or mat exercises. Instead I ran, walked fast, stood around for ages, and then bounced up and down periodically, flailing as much as space would allow while shaking my head. Hmm...

I brought the stick with me. I still have to do that for prolonged standing, and even its shooting-stick charms couldn’t obviate my knees hurting like bastards today.

I have a feeling my physiotherapist would not approve... Especially considering that I went to the gym today as well.

Maybe I need to revisit that whole “rest” concept.