I’m getting a bit slack at writing this every day … my excuse is that there’s so much going on in my life at the moment that I’m running a bit short of time. To give you an idea, I’m clearing and redecorating one house, helping the Boy buy a flat that we’re planning on gutting and renting out, have quite a high workload at work at the moment, and have a series of personal commitments too. So, frankly, the diet is becoming a bit incidental! Which, I guess, is how it should be.
There have been more key challenges over the past few days. On Friday I went to Brighton for a fancy dress party where I didn’t know the majority of the guests. So I had to look slightly weird (Frida Kahlo, if that gives you an idea) and remain entirely sober among lots of strangers. Oh, who were all decorating biscuits with writing icing for reasons that I really can’t begin to go into. I stuck it out until half midnight, managed to have a good time and only got slightly annoyed with the drunk girl who was gyrating clumsily all over the room in the mistaken assumption that she was some alluring, rhythmically gifted sylph. I don’t think that’s bad going … and I also managed to save the all-important peanut bar for the car journey home when my energy was flagging a little.
Saturday was the first part of a two-day Mother’s Day extravaganza. We saw the Boy’s family which involved sitting in a pub all afternoon while they ate and drank and I didn’t. His father announced to the waitress ‘oh she can’t eat anything because she’s on a special diet’, much to my surprise, and then turned round and said ‘er, was I not supposed to say that?’. Luckily I have quite thick skin and I don’t mind. To be honest, I’ve found that being quite open about the diet is working for me. I know some people prefer to keep it secret, but I don’t want to be furtive. Anyway, the afternoon was fine but I was a bit tired and ratty by the time we left, and I opted for a quiet night in catching up on lots of shit TV rather than another sober night in the pub.
Sunday was the challenge to end all challenges. I went to my sister’s house and cooked an entire roast meal for her family, my Mum and the Boy and didn’t touch a scrap. And guess what? It was easier than I thought. Firstly, I cooked lamb, which I hate, so I had no meat envy. I tried to ignore the roast potatoes (even though they made my knees go a bit weak) and busied myself carving the entire joint while they tucked in. By that point I felt so impressed with myself that it didn’t matter that I wasn’t eating. And I discovered a new talent … someone mentioned that you can cook by smell as much as by taste (I definitely come from the ‘taste everything you cook’ school of cooking) and, although it’s a poor substitute and I did have to get the Boy to check the gravy, it worked OK. I also implemented my new ‘everything from scratch’ rule (even down to the mint sauce) and was impressed with the results. So what could’ve been an absolute nightmare was actually a very positive experience. That said, had I cooked my signature roast beef, I may well have been weeping quietly into my peppermint tea …
So I’m at the end of my third week. Only eleven to go in the first phase … that’s sounding more attainable by the minute. I’ve realised I have absolutely no idea what happens after this phase (when do we get to eat normal food again?) but, to be honest, I’d rather not dwell on that too much as this is enough of a deadline as it is. I’m looking forward to hitting those scales tonight and am keeping everything crossed that I’ve shifted a decent amount. Wish me luck!