Alternatively titled: How I Turned Stark-Raving Mad
in Five Days.
In this case, "mad" is definitely
duplicitous, as I'm both a total lunatic, as well as angry. You'd think I was
weaning off of meth, as opposed to carbohydrates, the way that I'm biting my
nails (something I've never done) and cursing out strangers in my head (well,
that's par for the course, to be honest).
It all started with my desire to lose five pounds.
Don't all good stories from your twenties? Anyhow, I decided I was feeling fat
and bloated and just plain unhealthy and that I needed to lose a handful of
pounds. Now I recognize a fad diet when I see one (baby food? No way, Jose!),
but I believe wholeheartedly in the South Beach Diet, especially given the
medical research and side benefits (lower cholesterol, blood sugar stability,
etc.) that go hand-in-hand with it. That being said, it is one thing to believe
in something in theory, and another to put it to practice.
While I believe there is nothing more effective in
quick, small-goal weight loss than low-carb dieting, I also think there is
nothing more difficult.
I should add that there is scientific research
linking carbs to that good, warm-feeling, satiated feeling of bliss, so it's
not entirely my fault that I'm insane. Low-carb dieting does, in fact, piss
people off. But oooooh, I'm feeling a case of the low-carb lows, and the
obvious cures (pasta! cookies! french bread!) are out, so I'm turning to my
little corner of the internet to vent instead. Also? It happens to be dinnertime,
and I've reached the point of Stage 1 of the South Beach Diet (where you
eliminate all carbs, entirely, for two weeks to detox, since your body gets
physically addicted to carbs - obviously.) where each meal I feel defeated,
dejected, and depressed, asking myself, "Why even bother?"
If you think I'm being dramatic, clearly you aren't
familiar with the diet.
I should add, it's about fifty times harder than it
was pre-parenthood, too, since before I could just avoid carbs like the plague,
not tempting myself with their presence in my home. I would literally rid my
pantry of anything remotely carb-containing. Now, all hell would break loose if
I tossed all the goldfish and other assorted snacks in the house that are
carbohydrate-based, not only due to Ava, but because my husband doesn't have to
watch his girlish figure. No, he's naturally stick-thin and can eat whatever he
wants. Pardon me while I vom on myself over that.
Within twenty-four hours of starting the diet (just
last Wednesday, despite feeling like it was five months ago...), I was faced
with a box of pizza at work. I had to open it, dole out pizza slices and heat
it to it's fragrant best and serve it to four kids, two of whom left half of it
on the plate. BLASPHEMY! It was physically painful for me to feel that soft,
gooey pizza dough and not devour it.
Everyone says that the first two days are the
hardest, which is somewhat true, but I'm definitely relapsing in my cravings
today. I dished out some goldfish to Ava and when she handed them back to me in
the car, I had to literally throw them out the window while my vehicle was
moving*, because I didn't trust myself not to eat them off the driveway if I
waited to toss them when I got home.
This is SERIOUS, people.
It’s also made much worse by the fact that I’m a
bit of a picky eater. I don’t love meat, but I’ll eat it, but only with
something on the side because I don’t like the texture alone. Whether it’s a
bun, or pasta, or rice, or anything, I need something to go with my meat. I
hate the texture of eggs, so I squish them nearly to death and eat them with
toast in the same bite, but that’s gone, too. And I’ll be damned if I’m going
to sit around eating cauliflower “mashed potatoes” or sauerkraut or half their
suggested items. Blech.
I know, I know, I’m making it much harder on
myself.
So guess how much weight I’ve lost in five days?
A POUND. One single, f&#*ing pound. I got on
the scale this morning, thinking I was in for a nice start to my day, and
literally sobbed when I stepped off the scale. How is this even possible? My husband would lose that if he skipped carbs in his lunch. NOT. FAIR.
Add to that a case of PMS and a toddler that's gone
from the "terrible twos" to the "holy-shit-this-is-insane
threes", and I'm a woman on the edge. If you don't hear from me for a few
days, send help. Or - what I'll really need - donuts.
*Note: I'm generally not a litterbug. In fact, Ava and I pick up trash
on our walks usually, so quite the opposite. At least they're biodegradable?
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