Road Trip Food Anxiety

You guys.

Why do road trips always happen right when I finally get my health-mojo fired back up and start burning calories and toning? Without fail, every time I see the scale move significantly for the first time in ages, the magical travel fairy waves her wand over my house and…ta-dah! Road trip happens.

Which means Huddle House happens.

Cracker Barrel happens.

Six dollars’ worth of gummy bears bought at a gas station and quietly scarfed in the front seat while the kids nap in the backseat happens.

And then reckless abandon follows me all the days of my life. Or at least until my bras start hurting again.

Our Memorial Day mini-vacation originally was just going to be one night in my husband’s hometown about five hours away to attend his little brother’s graduation. Overnight visiting family, no big deal. Avoid a slice of graduation cake and I’m in the clear, right? I got this.

Then we realized that meant getting up on Sunday driving two little boys for five hours in the car only to get there just in time to make them put on dress shirts and sit through a two- or three-hour ceremony.


Because that will definitely not be an epic fail.

So, we reworked the plan and decided to drive *most* of the way up on Saturday, stop off in New Salem to do Lincoln tourist-y things and walk around and wear them out, stay the night nearby, and then finish the small drive the next morning. Which is totally awesome in some ways, because it gets some educational fun into their weekend and some walking around into mine, but therein lies another problem.

I wonder how many hundreds of calories I’m going to convince myself I burned walking about one square block over the course of a few hours at New Salem? Enough to cancel out whatever horrid thing I put in my body for lunch when we stopped off to eat first? Whatever ice cream or dinner we decide to tuck into before checking into the hotel that night?

I know I can do this. I know I can plan little treats in for myself and still not eat like a maniac and be okay. I know that I probably won’t lose any weight at all when I weigh in next week, and it’ll be a miracle with all that driving (and driving back) if I haven’t gained, just from the extra sitting alone.

And I know that’s okay.

Well, the rational part of me knows. The anxiety-driven, hates-to-travel, stressed-out, bat-shit-crazy part of me is freaking out.

So then, I guess, this is the moment when my rational self needs to grab hold of my crazy self and shake her and shout in her face, “Why did you want to be healthy again? Oh, right — so you wouldn’t freak out every time you wanted to do something fun with your kids, especially in the summertime! So…what are we doing? We are going on a road trip. With the kids. QUIT BEING A BASKETCASE, SETTLE DOWN, EAT YOUR DAMN GUMMY BEARS AND HAVE A GOOD TIME AND MOVE ON.”

Oh. Right. I remember.




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