I Want Candy

We are almost through with week three of the nutritional challenge, and I am having wild cravings and food hallucinations.  The first two weeks went so well that I thought the last four would be a breeze...not so much. I've been hungry non-stop, and sugar, which was mostly unappetizing until Sunday, is now all I can think about.  I blame this mostly on Paula Dean.  I don't want to be over-dramatic, but she is clearly a life-ruiner.  I think I noted that during the challenge, I would be avoiding watching The Food Network.  While I generally enjoy shows about food and cooking, they put naughty ideas in my head and lead me to make poor nutritional choices.  Well...I was having some back spasms on Sunday (post Guerrilla vs. Guerrilla), and wound up laid out on the couch while Brandon ran to the store for pain meds.  I noticed too late that he had inadvertently left me immobilized, with the remote out of reach, and tuned into Paula Dean, who was making some sort of ooey gooey butter cake concoction, which lulled me into a hefty 4 hour nap.  I woke up from that nap cranky, nasty, ravenous, lacking resolve, and itching for sugar.  The Diva of Diabetes set me on a rampage.

Admittedly, Paula's powers were too strong for me to ignore.  I cheated on Valentines Day.  That's right.  I am a big, fat, sugar-obsessed, CHEATER!  I had a cup of chocolate ice cream drizzled in olive oil and sprinkled with sea salt.  It was amazing - every last spoonful.  So, two out of three of my sundae items were paleo, but it was a nasty little splurge.  To my credit, it wasn't a wasted "cheat."  It would definitely fall into the category of cheats that are MAJORLY worth it. Like the kinda cheat you would slap yo mamma for.  BUT, instead of quelling my beastly cravings, it fed the sugar fire.  

I'm getting irritable.  I'm getting hurtful.  I'm getting violent.  I almost shanked my lovely friend/co-worker Christina for her Crumbs cupcake yesterday. She sat at her desk and enjoyed every last milky-white-rainbow -sprinkle-covered  morsel of her stuffed vanilla treat. I pouted at my desk, devising a strategy for inconspicuously putting her in a sleeper-hold so that I could jack her cupcake, take the subway to the hood, score a syringe, and somehow shoot that cakey deliciousness directly into my bloodstream so not one fucking molecule of that bad boy was wasted.   Just typing about that cursed cupcake is making my mouth water and my stomach growl.  

I'm not sure what the deal is.  Last week I was having to force myself to eat.  This week, I can't seem to find satiation. It's fucking frustrating.  I'm hoping this is just part of the adjustment or I'm going to go on a rager, mentally and physically abusing those who stand between me and their desserts.  

On a positive note, while the scale is not doing MUCH in the way of movement, I definitely can tell that certain parts of me are a little leaner than they were three weeks ago.  Workout-wise, I also feel like my endurance may be improving.  In the past few WODs, I haven't needed as much recovery time between sets. I knocked out 65 pull-ups on the green band AND had an almost-respectable "Karen" time (150 wall balls for non-CrossFitters) that involved me actually hitting the 10 foot target. 

I'm generally feeling less like a slob (except for the part where I am dreaming about eating candy bars until I explode, "Seven" style).