ECKLEBURG
2004-11-05 - 12:10 p.m.
Diets Suck.
So I have decided, after a stream of little reminders, that I am overweight, and that I need to lose some of my “softness.” Signs like pants not fitting as well, and the scale inching up are one thing, but it was when I bent over for a few minutes to do something, and then looked at my chest, and saw that there was a little red line where there was a crease between my belly and my (fortunately still small) man-boobs, that was the breaking point.
So I am on South Beach, and have been for 2.5 weeks. I have cheated twice, both at intimate, offsite, department parties with no other food but bad food. I feel really guilty about this. Theoretically, on South Beach you are supposed to lose 8-15 pounds your first two weeks. Then you lose 1-2 pounds a week until you are at the weight you want, and then you are allowed to cheat on the diet until you start gaining weight again. Then you cut back on the cheating just a little bit, just enough to stay at your low weight forever, or until you give up and keep cheating.
After 3 weeks, I have lost 3 pounds.
While some people would say that this is just more proof that pop diets are worthless. I completely blame myself. I am not sure exactly what I have done wrong (aside from the two cheating incidents). Lord knows how many freakin’ omelets and salads I have eaten so far.
Grumblecake has been on the diet with me at home (not at work), as a show of support, and she has lost 2 pounds. And Grumblecake only weighs about 12 to begin with.
So today I am taking the extreme measure of cutting out Diet Coke from my diet for the rest of the month. It’s the only quasi-bad thing I have left, and boy do I drink a lot. I probably go through a 6 pack a day.
We’ll see if my body was clinging on to all the fake sugar in some last desperate attempt to pretend all is normal, that it is still getting all the yummy goodness and the world is fine, despite all the empirical evidence to the contrary. It’s like my stummy and my fat cells are secret Bush devotee’s, clinging on their own bubble reality, despite the rest of my bodies attempt to force reality upon them.
Wish me luck, this might be a harder battle than my liberal mind anticipates
