You’re probably wondering if I motorboated this pumpkin pie right after this pic.
The thought did cross my mind.
Auntie Jane’s pumpkin pie. Mmmmmm. There’s nothing like it.
Thanksgiving has always been a ShovelFest for me. Two years ago at thanksgiving, I distinctly remember the worst food coma I have ever experienced. I swore I would never eat that much again. And I haven’t.
The past 4 months of having an egg-sized stomach have taught me some restraint. And to enjoy the tastes and textures of food.
So what was on my plate yesterday?
I made a plate with turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, cranberries, and green bean casserole. (I have never liked green bean casserole, but I tried it again. Turns out, I still don’t.)
I ate a bit of each thing on my plate, but didn’t clean it. I waited 30 minutes, and had a sliver of Auntie Jane’s pumpkin pie, (without the crust), and a dollop of sugar-free whipped cream.
I didn’t feel deprived. And today I feel good, not drugged or sick.
I spent the day focusing on what matters…my family. So liberating!
Weight-loss side effect: I’m always freezing now.
Good thing I knit.
I love a good cup of coffee.
Since having weight-loss surgery 4 months ago, I have tried 100 sugar-free coffee recipes that are okay, but not good or great.
Prior to surgery I was pouring so much sugary coffee creamer into my java that it was really just a strong cup of sugar.
Sugar consumption equals weight gain. Especially liquid sugar.
And if you haven’t learned by now that sugar is your biggest enemy, then pay attention to the way your body feels an hour after you eat it.
It is the devil. Period, point blank, the end.
I have discovered a coffee recipe that contains good fat, zero sugar, and tastes a bit like good Italian cappuccino.
Here is how I do it.
I use a $19 coffee press from Meijer. Add 3 tbsp of ground dark roast. (Decaf if you’re a bariatric patient.) Heat water to boiling in a tea kettle and add to the grounds. Let steep for 5 minutes. Press.
Add 1 teaspoon grass-fed butter* AND 1 teaspoon coconut oil to a blender. (*Do NOT use margarine, it must be a high quality butter like Kerrygold.) Add pressed coffee and blend on low for 1 minute.
The result will be a frothy cup of strong coffee.
Good fat. No sugar. Energy boost. Possible/likely morning poo.
Hard earned, lazy Sunday morning with my girls, my boy, (hiding under blankets) and some cheesy eggs in salsa verde.
It’s hard to choose high-protein sometimes. Today I really just want pancakes. With real maple syrup. And cappuccino. But I have a goal to reach. So I choose real food that gives me energy.
It’s not easy. But it’s worth it.
I said I would keep this journey real, so here goes:
I’ve felt like buggis the past two days. I could blame the surgery. Or I can take responsibility for my actions.
I feel like this because of how I ate/hydrated over the weekend.
Friday night at dinner I had 2 tortilla chips. Only 2 chips, you say? Yes, but my stomach pouch only holds 4 ounces. So though they tasted amazing, it wasn’t worth it.
Saturday morning I woke up feeling excessively full. So I didn’t eat. By lunch I still didn’t want to eat, but I forced down some cheese and raw veggies during a fundraiser.
At dinner time I was nauseated, so again I didn’t eat. I also didn’t hydrate nearly enough.
I didn’t want to consume anything.
Sunday was worse.
I didn’t eat anything until 2pm, when I was at another fundraiser. I had some raw veggies and 2 meatballs. I made the excuse that I was busy and didn’t have time to make my food. I didn’t ask what was in the meatballs. You guessed it…sugar. I was sick and doubled over in pain all evening.
By Monday I was nauseated, exhausted, and had a raging headache.
I had to leave work.
What’s the lesson here?
Every choice I make matters.
Every single bite counts.
I may think that “just one bite” won’t hurt. But that’s crap. And I know it. Two chips were just two chips until they turned into more poor choices and DAYS of misery.
I matter. I’m worth the extra time and effort it takes to prepare nutritious food. Little indulgences are not that anymore, they are tiny little choices that will lead to me either feeling great or being sick.
And I’m too fantastic to be sick.