If anyone read my super depressing TMI filled post about poop yesterday I apologize. For the TMI part not the depressing part. my feelings are valid.
Anyway, as part of the “quest to figure out what the hell is wrong by with me physically” I stopped-ish drinking Pepsi. Sorta.
On this frustrating quest, I had one or three no four Pepsi’s and Miralax laced coffee. But I’ve tried to drink an ungodly amount of water too. I expected nothing but frequent urination and maybe an improvement of my health.
I have been tracking my intake of Pepsi and randomly for craps and giggles, my weight.
While I’ve not noticed a major difference in my health (I do notice when I have less water), my legs are less swollen, and I don’t get dry mouth as much. I did forget that behemoth of a water bottle this morning so I had very little water, and I’ve noticed a difference in my, “movements”.
Anyway, despite the positive and unhappy change in my carbonated and caffeinated beverage consumption and increase and clear and boring flavorless beverage (I like water actually), I have been, if you haven’t noticed, fantastically depressed.
Honestly Pepsi has been my happy place. And I think I can blame it on mom. But that’s another story. I drank a Pepsi when I was angry, tired, depressed. Mostly at work. I sometimes even drank it just cause I like the flavor.
Now, as I’ve said, I’ve been tracking consumption Pepsi. Not how much but whether or not. I created a little table in my Notes App on my iPhone. I also randomly weigh myself.
In 18 days I’ve had Pepsi four days. This is usually one Pepsi. Mostly a can. Once it was a large fountain Pepsi (the best Pepsi). This, in fact, was the craving. It has been five days since my last Pepsi (Forgive me father for I have sinned).
In 18 days I have weighed myself or have been weight three times.
For YEARS, I have stayed right at 320. I have fluctuated five or ten pounds either way at certain points, mostly shark week. But if I am weighed, whether voluntarily or not, I’m usually right in 320.
Tonight, before I crawled into bed (to start writing this) to sleep, I decided, “Hey, why not add fuel to the fire of my depression induced mental breakdown and weigh myself.
I use an old fashioned analog scale with the little red doodad that points to a number, because I get a different number every time with a digital scale. Plus no batteries.
So I kick off my off-brand Crocs, not for the weight I’d them but because I need to see the scale. I have big feet and they make it worse. I make sure the scale is pointed at zero abs throw my large giggly form on top of the scale and watch the pointer circle round and lap that zero (the scale only goes to 300).
I expected it to land in 320 or higher. My legs are swelled a little, and let’s just say the tunnels need evacuated. But did it land on or beyond 320?
To my utter shock and surprise, no. That little red doohickey sat neatly between 310 and 320. So according to that old janky scale that I’ve had for about a decade, I’m 5 pounds lighter than I was 8 days ago at the doctor.
Now I know that number is what it is because of a combination of water weight and two months of lingering garbage my body should have spluttered out days ago.
But I’m gonna take it as a tiny win. I am gonna ride that short wave like I’m a novice skier on the bunny slopes at a ski resort for the rich and famous. Because no matter how what we do we could all do to celebrate the little things.
Also I’m so sleepy right now I’m typing this with one eye closed. So here’s the screenshot if my notes app.
Crash Landing 