Saturday was “opposite day” for me. You remember when we were kids, and we periodically and without pattern decided that day A was opposite day. Where up was down, left was right, yes meant no, and pizza meant poop. Or some such thing. What the hell happened?
Well, as I may have mentioned before, I’m trying a new workout regime of not giving a crap. Of going for a 3 mile run every workday morning, lots of walks during the day, and occasional weight lifting if I’m so inclined. Gone are the “2 a day” workouts, 1000 calories on the AMT machine, and general misery in the name of fitness. And I was pretty curious to find their effect on my bottom (waist)line. So, Saturday morning I decided to weigh myself. And I’d gained 2 pounds! BLASPHEME! NO! CANNOT BE! I *may* have actually punched a wall in frustration and then told my husband I “didn’t want to talk about it” in true drama queen fashion. I may have also peed shortly after and immediately noticed a half pound weight loss, proving everything arbitrary and invalid.
Still, old habits die hard. So I set out for a bike ride to soothe my wounded soul. 25 miles of limestone, audiobook, and sweat later, I came home in time to take a shower and get ready for our trip to Omaha. Yeah, we skipped lunch but all in the name of FUN! Jeff and I headed out of town to go have an adventure. We shopped for housewares at World Market (nothing for me, spices for Jeff), picked up some homebrew competition winnings (congrats, honey!), stopped in at Penzey’s spices and then tried to find some food. Our brewery go-to somehow decided to close their kitchen from 3-4 as we walked in at 3:30, so we gave up on appetizers.
We had the best of intentions. We angled towards the Dundee Dell, dive bar extraordinaire and famous for their fried pickles. But next door we spotted the Cask Republic and decided to take a gamble. No snacks, just booze. Best idea we’ve ever had? Probably not. But the “sombrero fallout” was delicious, as was Jeff’s negroni. We read our books, sipped our cocktails, and headed towards our ultimate dinner destination.
Via Farina was everything we’d hoped for and more-despite Jeff’s dismay at having to explain his drink of choice to the waiter. Our calamari? Delicous. The sourdough pizza? We are pizza connoisseurs. This girl will eat pizza over most anything. And this place *happened* to have a “fried pizza” on the menu. Yes, I picked off most of the not-so-crispy bacon. Yes, I may have stolen Jeff’s olives. But ultimately, it was freaking delicious. And I was so, so happy. We stopped in to get a few albums at the local record store. Some for listening, some for my eventual feature wall of balls-ass-crazy album covers. I scored an Edgar Winter band album that will DEFINITELY fit the bill. We headed back home for some reading on our patio while sipping on our own drinks of choice.
SO, I started Saturday worried about a 2 pound weight gain and ended it eating fried pizza. Do I get to pawn this one off on balance? Nope. Can I credit endorphins for giving me perspective? Probably not. So what the heck is the reason for my about-face? God, I hope it’s getting wiser. I don’t really know how else to explain it. I’m trying. I want to be less worried about my body. I want to be a more well rounded human. I want to be sage and all-knowing and shit. But honestly? I probably realized I was being silly and decided to eat the most delicious thing I saw on the menu. And that means maybe I AM growing! YAY ME!