Well, that sucked.
I am slowly returning to the land of the living after catching some nasty stomach bug. I felt generally okay on Monday, okay enough to do an 8 mile bike ride on the exercise bike at the school gym, which is a loathsome and vile place that I will have to discuss in more detail at a later time.
Monday night the mister and I watched a movie- Little Children, which received positive reviews from both of us, which is always a pleasant surprise, as we have quite different taste in movies. I like ones that make you laugh. He likes ones that make you so depressed you want to give all your possessions away and go throw yourself off a nearby bridge.
After the movie, we went to bed and I realized I was feeling a little woozy. I told the husband that I was “20% sure” I was getting sick.
I started the barfing at 2 a.m. and quickly upgraded my assessment to 100% sure I was sick.
I will spare you the graphic details of the ensuing day of horror, but lets just say that if you didn’t poop on Tuesday, it is because I did all the pooping for everyone in the whole world that day.
Yesterday was better, but still queasy so I didn’t eat too much. Today, I’ve had a few flashes of queasy but I’m well enough to be back at work. I still don’t have much of an appetite though. I keep feeling like I should be hungry, but I’m not.
Back in the day when I was really, really f*cked up about food and weight and all that good stuff, a stomach bug like this would have made me really happy. The fact that I lost 11 pounds in two days would have made me thrilled. The fact that the weight would go back up once I started being able to drink and eat again would have totally depressed me and I would have felt like a failure.
I got on the scale yesterday and saw a number I haven’t seen since we moved to Iowa. My husband was in the bathroom at the time and looked at the scale and said “wow, you really haven’t eaten anything, have you?” In that moment, a few things crystallized for me and I had one of those out of body experiences where I can see how far I’ve come in terms of being truly okay with myself.
First, I saw a number (artificially low) and it was just that- a number. Not a reflection of my worth, not a cause for celebration, just a number that reflected the result of an intestinal parasite of some sort.
Second, my husband knows exactly what I weigh and I generally okay with that, even though I outweigh him by a fair margin.
Third, I knew that number would go back up, and I’m okay with it. Long-term, of course, I’d like it to go down but that will happens slowly once I get back into running and that is okay.
I don’t know everyone who reads my blog, so I don’t know if there is anyone who is where I used to be with weight stuff (obsessed, self-loathing, etc) but if there is, let me just say this: It can get better and the better is so much better than you think it will be. I used to think that I’d never be happy until I was thin and now I know that I’ll never be fit (fit has replaced thin for me as a goal) unless I am happy with myself.
Gah. I hope I don’t sound like an after school special. I could go on and on, but I’ll stop now.
I don’t know if I will run tonight. Maybe walk. I hope I can because it is getting all fall and crispy outside, which is the best possible running weather.