Injury Time Out

Lorraine Says: It seems that Bret can disappear for months at time (because he's "working" or "inflating his girlfriend") and that's alright, but a few of us other blobs miss a week or two and he tries to stage a blog coup.

Even though... if I'm honest, I'm not sure Bear is coming back either. Maybe he's hibernating? GET IT HIBERNATING. Okay, sorry I'm done. RIP Bear. We'll still be around when you wake, and chances are Bret will still be fat and Lily might be drunk or crying OR BOTH.

Now for me. Where have I been? Would you believe injured? See, my last post was all about my wild success and how hard I was trying to diet and especially exercise.

A few things happened that interrupted my gym flow, and then it hit me like a tons of bricks: a sharp pain in my chest. It fucking sucks.

Whenever I say something about my chest hurting to anyone they give me wild eyes and tell me that I'm probably dying and should get to a hospital immediately. See, I've been down this road before already.

About a year and a half ago, I had the same type of pain in my chest. I went to the walk-in emergency care center by my house, slammed my fist on the reception counter and proclaimed that I was dying. The nurse up front didn't even blink an eye.

"Sign your name on the list."

"Behind all these people that aren't dying as badly as me?"

"List your problem next to it."

So I signed my name. I was tempted to write "death" as my problem, but instead settled on chest pains. I handed the death list back to the rude nurse. She glanced at it and (in my head) did a very dramatic double take.

"How old are you?"

"23."

"There's 23-year old with chest pains! 23-year old with chest pains!"

Suddenly, I was dying a lot more importantly than the people bleeding and moaning in the waiting room. I was whisked away and my vitals were taken, I was put in a room, and then I waited. And waited, And waited. And waited. With no bra on. Seriously, apparently bras get in the way of chest examinations. If anyone knows me, they know that I'm only without a bra during Cardio and showers, so this was almost worse than the chest pains.

A couple of hours later (in my head) the doctor came in.

"I hear you might be dying."

Not fucking funny doctor. Not funny.

"Yep. My chest really hurts. It's a sharp pain."

"Does it hurt worse when you breathe in deeply?"

Breathes in deep.

"Ouch. Yes."

"Does this hurt," she asked, poking me in the middle of my chest.

"OW. YES."

"Okay, well, it's costochondritis. It's basically inflammation."

And she walked out.

Didn't she want to check my heart? Wasn't their some science-y machine that could confirm her diagnosis? Didn't she want to buy me dinner since she did, after all, get me naked?

Nope. It wasn't death, it was an inflamed chest wall.

The rest of the information I gathered was from the print-out diagnosis sheet the check-out lady gave me as I paid for the doctor's finger poke.

Basically, it hurts. It sucks. There's nothing you can do about it. And here, I'll quote Yahoo Health, obviously a very reliable source of information:

The causes of costochondritis are not well-understood and may be difficult to establish. The most likely causes include injury, repetitive minor trauma, and unusual excessive physical activity

It was costochondritis then and this is the same pain I remember. The breathe,ow! pain. The move,ow! pain. The lay down,ow! pain. It'd really suck if I were actually dying this time, but I'm putting my bets on it being costochondritis again.

Basically, exercise is trying to kill me.

So, that's where I've been. Not at the gym. Still eating all right, with the occasional churro and ice cream slip up (one to be exact.)

Well, how do I get better? I'll quote the Mayo Clinic for you:

Most cases of costochondritis have no apparent cause. In these cases, treatment focuses on easing your pain while you wait for costochondritis to improve on its own.

Oh, yay. I get to wait. AMAZING.

Lily Says: That just sounds very scary. This is why my physical activity is Cardio. I feel it's apt to blame Bret for your injury. I mean, you guys live in the same state.

The Root of all Evil Bret Says: Wow, thanks for this fantastic update that was 99% from a over a year ago. In my medical opinion you would probably be a lot healthier if you weren't such a slut. Having that many guys sit on your chest can produce negative results.

Also, you're short and likely under developed as a human being, so I can see you having weak lungs. I'm just here to help.

Lorraine Says: The anecdote from the past was necessary to understand my present condition, asshat. Is reading comprehension something else you struggle with? I guess, though, if you're Bret, that really is the least of your worries.

Weak lungs? Really? From the guy who ran a minute and almost died? Nice try.

I Either Get To Be Social or Skinny

Lorraine Says: It seems I've returned to some sort of normally scheduled programming. AKA, I've finally forgotten all the turkey I ate, and hopefully after a very good week, so has my body.

I say hopefully because I still don't want to get on the scale. I'm holding out hope for next week, but for now, I can only report that no boxes of zebra cakes were devoured in the making of this post. VICTORY.

Anyways, it's time for my difficulty of the week. Yeah, yeah, I mostly use these posts to complain about diets but whatever. It's sort of the point. Plus, despite an otherwise good week, I thought of something as typed this up and my stomach began growling at me angrily.

I'd like to say that I'm an emotional eater, but that's not entirely true. I mean, if I'm sad or bored or whatnot, I'll go for chocolate (duh) but not really food, food. I rarely crave things. I sometimes forget to eat. I only eat when I'm hungry.

Now, that might seem like an okay thing, but I'm talking about only eating when I'm really, really hungry. I just don't have a thing for food, so it isn't until my stomach is burning and grumbling that I think, "you know what? I should eat." Then, at that point, get me around food and I'm just gonna stuff my face.

I eat faster than my brain can process it all and tell my stomach it isn't ravenous anymore. I eat past the point of full. I'm not really an expert, but something tells me this is doing it wrong.

Since the start of this diet, I've been trying to correct this behavior - to eat because I have to and not because I want to. I've tried to put myself on a schedule.

I'll be honest that it hasn't always worked. Sometimes I still forget to eat. Like last night's dinner. At this point, the last time I ate anything at all was 24 hours ago.

I'll end this post now, and try not to eat a small island. Or all the Ethiopians. Or Bret's sausage.

I don't think I'll ever be THAT hungry.


Wifey-Poo Says: I know what you mean.  I have to force myself to eat breakfast every morning (or try to at least).  Otherwise I don't eat until my sugar drops so low my head hurts and my hands are shaking. 

And then I eat everything in the house.

A schedule is a good idea, because then you'll start to recognize your body's signals easier when you get hungry.  It sounds kinda lame, but would it help if you set alarms on your phone or something?

Congrats on the no full boxes of zebra cakes!


The Bear Monk Says: I've been pretty successful at adhering to a schedule myself.  It's all about being in a place and getting into a habit.  First thing I do when I get to work is fix myself oatmeal and a coffee.  At 11 I go to lunch and at 2-3 I have a 100 calorie pack of popcorn.  After that we just have dinner after the gym.

I always find it helpful to associate 1 action with another to help keep me on track.

Having said that...my eating schedule on the weekend is completely fucked.  I rarely wake up early enough for a normal breakfast and if I do I'm likely gaming while the Wife is sleeping in.  And then there's the urge to go out.  The Wife is cooped up the whole week at the house while I'm at work so she wants to go out and as we all know it's a real bitch to eat right at a restaurant.  Especially here in San Antonio. 

It's a love hate relationship I have with this city.


Lorraine Says: I feel better knowing I'm not the only one who has to be mindful about an eating schedule. I suppose this means I should clear out all my "eat chocolate now" alarms out of the phone and add in "eat oatmeal, BOOOO" alarms. Hmmph.

Also, the eating out thing is big with me. Catching up with my best friends happens over dinner. Conversations with co-workers happen over lunch. Dates happen over dinner.

Do I have to chose between being social or being skinny?


Wifey Says: This is kinda the million dollar question isn't it? I guess it's just a matter of making difficult choices about what to order and maybe beinng more creative when it comes to the social stuff.  No easy answer, I'm afraid.


Lorraine Says: Unless you are Bret and don't have a social life. Why is he fat again?


Wifey Says: Don't know where this image came from, but I just pictured Bret on a date with a woman made of sausage.
Could that be the answer?


Bear Says: Oh and lets think about eating Bret's sausage for 1 second, there's no way in hell anything that small would be satisfying anyway.


Small Sausage Bret: Wow, I got a lot of press for a post I hadn't even written in.

Seriously though Lor, it seems like if your emotions get the best of you and ends up causing you to stuff your face with anything you can find, then the only possible solution is for you to get a boyfriend.  Then you can stuff your face whenever you want, but it will be a low calorie workout instead.  Of course, to be fair to him you should find someone that already suffers from Herpes so they don't get a nasty surprise in the future.  Oh, and they should be blind. 


Lorraine Says: If by "press" you mean, "let's all point and laugh at Bret the sausage lover when he isn't around" then yes! What a whole lot of press!

And if by if by the rest of that you mean "I hit on Lorraine and have propositioned her multiple times and may have even tried to rape her but she keeps turning me down and/or running for her life so now I must make fun of her and call her easy and ugly and herpes infected," then I see where you are going.

And to that I say: the answer is still no Bret. As Bear said, not a very satisfying sausage. And Bear knows his sausage.