Today was just one of those days where my inner clock seemed to be off by an hour or two. I blame the recently consistent mid-morning low blood sugars, and I think I’ve finally figured out why I’ve been having these morning lows: My breakfast oats.
A few days ago when it was time to make up another batch of oats, I was feeling lazy. And so Mario offered to make them because he’s nice like that, and I agreed because I’m lazy like that. However, Mario doesn’t yet know how to make the perfect protein oats which are chock-a-block full of soy protein powder and egg whites and chia seeds and vanilla and yum. So it’s been just plain stone cut oats for me the last few days, and while I do add nut butter and yogurt to them, I’m beginning to believe it’s just not enough protein for the oats to get a good lasting grip on my bones, which inevitably results in a quick surge of blood sugars followed by an even quicker plummet of said sugars. At 9:24 a.m., my BG was 3.4.
And because I was forced to have my morning snack at 9:30 and not 10 or 10:30 when I like to have it, I was starving; it took everything I had not to dive into my lunch at 11. By noon, I was seriously ogling my arm like it was a lobster tail ready for the butter. I think there might have even been some drool. I was hungry again at 1:30, but held out until 2, where I had my afternoon snack. By 3:30, I was again ravenous, but had run out of snacks … in my lunchbox that is.
There’s a drawer in my desk, it’s actually one of two drawers, designated as the emergency stash drawer. I think most people have a drawer like this for starving-like situations such as this. And inside they probably pack things like granola bars or nuts or graham crackers or trail mix or something else to sustain them. Not me. Oh no. My emergency drawer is a chocolate drawer.
Needless to say it didn’t sustain me. What’s in your emergency stash drawer?
I left the office at 4:45 wishing that Scotty would just beam me up to my parent’s house , but no I had to drive the 45 minutes, with visions of raiding their pantry filling my head. Those visions, however, were instantly shattered with the ding of my iPhone at 5:20 p.m.: Reminder: Pilates 5:30 it read. Oh crap! I was so sure my class started at 6:30, not 5:30, but iCal doesn’t lie, and I wasn’t taking any chances the ding was faulty.
I had just gotten off the highway, was in the thick of rush hour for all the workers going home to their farms, and I hadn’t yet changed. There was no time for the pantry. As I drove, freaking out the entire way, I whipped off my scarf and unbuttoned my jacket to save a milisecond of time. I tested my blood sugars (yes, yes, I know, it’s probably not the wisest thing to do while driving, but in desperate times, a girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do). I arrived at 5:32, ran into the studio’s washroom, ripped off my work clothes, replaced them with my pilates clothes, left the washroom, tore open my granola bar, practically choked it down, and at 5:38, I started my pilates.
Like I said, an hour behind.
- 5:25 p.m. BG before: 6.0 (granola bar, no bolus)
- Temp basal: -50 per cent
- 50 minutes of pilates (didn’t quite get through my set)
- 6:30 p.m. BG after: 3.4
I blame the stress for the post-pilates low blood sugar.