Apparently I DON’T learn…

Okay, so I might need a babysitter.  I know that I keep posting that I don’t, but I think maybe… I do.  My hips are hurting… AGAIN… Because why?  Because I jogged on the treadmill and now my arthritis/bursitis is acting up.  (And yes, I’m only 44 freaking years of age, but I was a gymnast, hence the 72 year old hips.)  Last week, when I jogged on the treadmill, they hurt and David said, “You probably shouldn’t jog any more.”  So leading up to the weekend I totally didn’t jog.  Now some of that is because I just didn’t have the time to do anything, but I was trying to make sure that I’d be able to dance at the wedding on Saturday, because it would suck not to be able to dance at one of your best friends’ weddings.  So I left off the jogging and was able to dance.  YAY!  

But today I jogged again.  I could lie and say that I was just testing to see if my hips hurt EVERY time I jogged, but I won’t do that.  I was jogging to burn more calories.  I only had one episode of Buffy on the media player and that only last 41 minutes, so I figured I’d up the cardio ante by jogging.  I kind of thought, if I only jog every other time, maybe I can manage it.  I was wrong.  This is me admitting that I’m wrong.  See that?  Gold freaking star for Heather.

I was wrong on Saturday too.  I ate the wrong food.  With full knowledge of my blood sugar issues, I might have eaten, um, two pieces of wedding cake, and then for the late-night snack, I might have had um, two pieces of Pizza Hut pizza and maybe, a, uh… lemon square.   (The cake part was totally understandable and you would have done it too.  Usually wedding cake sucks!!! But this cake was SO good!   JULIA IS AN AMAZING BAKER!  After the first piece, the 2nd piece just called to me in a siren voice that made me lose my mind a bit.)

I’m pretty sure it’s the Pizza Hut pizzas’ fault.  Because Pizza Hut pizza is basically pizza toppings slathered onto deep fried white bread – which is apparently my nemesis.  You’d figure that it’d be something WAY more dangerous, involving, say, throwing stars and maybe a mace, but, no it’s white bread. That, combined with being exhausted was a bad combo.  There are good combos.  Like ham and pineapple on a thin crust gluten-free pizza or Gene Kelly & Donald O’Connor, but me tired and eating the wrong foods is pretty much a recipe for falling into near hypo-glycemic shock.

The wedding was divided into two camps  One camp thought that maybe I’d just heard that someone had died.  Any light in my eyes faded and I spent a lot of time trying not to cry. I think I might have been mourning the passing of my common sense.  And then the other camp was all, “Look at the drunken Matron of Honour – poor thing can’t hold her liquor.”  Which, by the way,
I totally can, and if I could have actually articulated more than two words together I would have told them that. “I’m Danish by God – I can drink anyone here under the table!  Pass me that bottle of Aquavit!  Skol!!” But when you’re basically drunk on sugar, you’re
pretty
much screwed until you can reboot, which for me means having something sweet like orange juice along with some protein and a place to sleep.  It was such a bad sugar crash that I actually allowed David, Rissa
and the groom to pretty much carry me to the car.   And this from a gal who refuses help at the best of times.

So, if you see me in public, veering towards slices of deep dish pizza or late night baked goods, lay a hand upon my arm and say “Remember the wedding?”  It might just be enough to keep me in line.