Whole30 Round 2.5

For the sake of honesty/true confessions/whatever, let’s just get it out there: The Whole30 derailed somewhere around Whole13.

Language is such a joy. I can say “I screwed up and ate pizza,” or I can say “The Whole30 derailed,” which makes it sound like the failure was entirely the Whole30’s. Just another reason to love the passive voice.

In my defense, Manny’s Whole30 derailed on Day 12 thanks to a chimichanga, so I made it further than he did.

We’ve been keeping the diet mostly Whole30-esque since then, and we’re starting Round 2.5 tomorrow.

It’s tempting to look at the whole failed effort as a waste, but I’m starting to learn that trashing a beginning–any beginning–undermines everything about the effort. Because everything, whether it’s running, writing a book, or figuring out the best way to eat to fuel your body, requires a beginning, every single step of the way.

At some point, you have to stop counting how many times you’ve started and restarted as if each beginning is a failure, and just collect every beginning as another victory instead.

We didn’t complete Round 2, but we cut 80% of the sugar from our diet, I made some serious strides towards drinking my coffee black, and we at least doubled our veggie intake since starting. I also learned how miserable pizza actually makes me feel. That lesson was a little heartbreaking.

For two weeks and then some, we fueled our bodies with… maybe not the very best, but definitely better. And tomorrow we’re redoubling our efforts to actually finish a Whole30, complete with a proper reintroduction phase. This time we’ll plan better for full days out of the house and for restaurants, because we know those situations are our downfall on this program.

I work out.

Some of you might not believe it by looking at me, but I’ve been undergoing a strenuous exercise regimen for the last… oh, month or so.

The results? Incredible. No, seriously, I’m incredulous every time I step on the scale, having sweated more than I wanted to sweat during a few days of workouts, and see that I haven’t lost a pound.

Every time I step on the scale, it rewards me with the same number I saw last time. Incredible.

It’s just the motivation I need to keep plugging on. Sometimes I reward myself with an extra glass of water to celebrate.

I might have noticed improvements in muscle tone if I wasn’t preoccupied by sore hamstrings, which protest about halfway up the three flights of stairs on the way to my third-floor classrooms every weekday.

I have a secret Pinterest board of fitness motivation. It’s awesome. It makes me want to persevere even though nothing has changed. 

The amazing thing about this new venture? It’s incredibly humbling. The whole In shape? Psssh, I can hike fifteen miles without even beginning to feel it the next day brag doesn’t stand up so well when I’m dying at the digital hands of a Jillian Michaels workout video.

What gives?

So, humility. And a number on a scale that doesn’t change, accompanied by a new-found respect for all the things I’m learning my body will not do… 

Oh, yeah. I feel empowered.

*keeps plugging*