Off to a good start. Black coffee for breakfast. Of course, I have only ever drunk my coffee black, but still, you burn the five calories it is drinking it. Had overnight oats and they tasted delicious. I made them with unsweetened vanilla almond milk, crunchy almond butter, a bit of maple syrup, and half a cut up apple. Gluten-free – check. Dairy-free – check. Low on the glycemic index scale – check. High in fiber – check! Doing great. Looking in the mirror, my hair pulled tight into a ponytail, my face already looks a little slimmer.
Deep breath. Quick toe-tap on the digital scale to activate it. Step on, completely naked, not even wearing my glasses. Can’t see the fucking numbers. Squint. Bend over. Peer down. Same as yesterday. Double check by stepping on again. Basically, where I left off at the end of diet number 17,000. And it’s not really cheating that I weighed myself after OrangeTheory class. It’s just good for my mental health.
I have a thousand things to get done today. But I’m kind of peckish from thoughts of eating less. I know, breakfast was more than usual, but it’s hard to concentrate with this feeling of hunger. I’ll drink more black coffee and some water to fill up. This is a tried and true tactic.
When can I eat lunch? If I eat too early, I’ll be starving all afternoon, but I can’t wait too long. I’m ravenous now.
Feeling lightheaded. Waited as long as I could. Found gazpacho from the Farmer’s Market and had a glass. Then ate a soft-boiled egg with some left-over spaghetti squash. Drank the fourth of my eight glasses of water. Full but unsatisfied. My pants seem a little looser after my 10th trip to pee.
I hate dieting. But I’m not really dieting, I’m just eating less. Who am I kidding, I already barely eat. Dieting by any other name is still fucking dieting. If Oprah, with her legions of trainers and cooks, is still chubby, why do I continue to fight my genetics?
“El. What’s for dinner?” My husband asked.
“Salmon and zoodles.”
“Oh.” His disappointment was palpable down the telephone line. “What about pasta or Chinese?
He never cooks, yet he happily makes suggestions.
“I am trying not to eat carbs and there is so much salt in Chinese I gain five pounds just looking at it.” I lose my cool and yell.
Ate the other half of the apple with barely a teaspoon of almond butter. I want more! But no….
More water. More trips to the bathroom. My eyeballs are sloshing from all the water. Better get it all in before six PM or I’ll be up all night going to the bathroom. I already get up at least once a night to pee.
Hardest part of the day. Hungry but not wanting to ‘pre-eat,’ before dinner. I open the cabinet. Pop-Chips. They are calling my name; sweet and salty and low-fat. I slam the door. Carrots and hummus are in the fridge. I slowly peel a carrot, trying to live the diet advice about savoring and appreciating your food. This is a beautiful orange carrot I bought from my favorite vegetable stand. I take a bite. YUCK!!! I dip it in some hummus. Palatable. I’m losing weight. I am going to see results tomorrow.
After dinner I manage to eat only one square of dark chocolate for dessert. Whoever said one square of dark chocolate is satisfying, is full of shit. The only way I didn’t eat half the bar, is that I’m going upstairs to brush my teeth, ignoring my craving for the Haagen-Daz that’s in the freezer.
Getting in bed I feel ever so slightly thinner. Is that a hipbone? I mean I subsisted on air today and I exercised, vigorously. I close my eyes and try to visualize how I will look 10 lbs lighter, but as I fall asleep this morphs into dreams of the cake I’m going to eat as a cheat-treat.