This weekend was tough. I was visiting family for an 25th wedding anniversary party and for Mother’s Day. In some capacity, depending on the family, both revolve around food. This means not partaking in a multitude of goodies I would have otherwise gladly “sampled.” Which means none of this*:
Definitely none of this*:
But most of all, none of this. (After remembering sentiments expressed on Day 3, you’ll be even more proud of me.)
It sucked. Buuutttt as always, it was a delight to spend time with family. And since I wasn’t eating (or drinking) my weight in calories, it meant I got to feast on this* instead:
…a color-bursting salad. And I cannot lie, I didn’t even mind because this salad is absolutely exploding with flavor. I took the liberty of adding an avocado, and was very pleased with myself for doing so. It was a great addition.
In all seriousness, the absolute hardest part of the weekend wasn’t battling the aroma of the delicious but off limit foods around me, it was the skeptical looks I got from the family that just begged me to give in and have a beer or an appetizer or anything that would make them feel any inkling less guilty about eating overwhelmingly poorly. It was with absolutely no malice or desire to be unsupportive; they, specifically the guys, just didn’t have much of a place to sympathize. So when your whole family doesn’t really understand and you spend the entire day dodging statements of, “You’re crazy!” or “I could / would never do that!” a person begins to second guess their ability or will to stay committed. And there were moments where I was this close to cheating, but I knew I would be so disappointed with myself; I knew I could undo days and days of hard-earned work and I would never feel good about it. But guess what! I made it! I did it! Not once did I cheat. Not. One. Time. Not a single bite.
I cannot get over the sense of accomplishment I feel, not to mention the noticeable difference I’m beginning to feel in my body.
It was a good weekend indeed.