Today I received an egg in my lunch.
This is a somewhat unusual occurrence. Kathy graciously prepares a lunch for me, whenever I work in the city; she takes very good care of me. Today there was lettuce, but (since I am counting every calorie) there were no croutons. There were also no tomatoes, since weâ€™re counting grocery dollars, and we canâ€™t quite get back to the idea of paying $3/pound for tomatoes when we used to harvest them for free from the backyard. Ours were better, too.
I donâ€™t really like salad, which is why my eyes lit up when I saw the egg.
â€œIâ€™ll crumble up that hard-boiled egg, and put it on my salad,â€ I assured myself. â€œThey will help to absorb the watery salad spritzer dressing, and redeem this salad,â€ I promised myself in a hearty tone.
One should always be wary of people who speak in hearty tones.
I cracked the egg, and realized, belatedly, that the egg was not, in fact, hardboiled. Pandemonium, on a very small scale, ensued.
My co-workers glibly assured me that Kathy did not do this to me on purpose, but I am plagued by doubt. Perhaps it is time to step up the pace of my Christmas shopping for my beloved bride.
Not my actual egg.
Now that I have been dieting for five (or is it six?) weeks, Iâ€™ve become accustomed to disappointment in food, or at least, disappointment in portion sizes. The amazement (â€œNo way. You mean that is a cup of mashed potatoes? It would hardly take three bites to eat it!â€) has given way to a numb acceptance of how little, in fact, I need to eat to sustain myself.
Yesterday was a hard day. It started out on the wrong foot, as I recklessly squandered 400 calories on a bagel at Paneraâ€™s (with two pats of butter). I became over-hungry before lunch, and the feeling of deprivation wouldnâ€™t seem to pass. I decided I wanted to devour the world, or at least as much of it as I could comfortably stuff into my mouth. My daily 8:30 pm appointment with the ice cream freezer seemed eons away.
I hate days like that.
Calories consumed versus calories burned, on average
Late in the afternoon, I remembered my panacea for calorie-poor, appetite-rich days: get some exercise. While I require myself to eat 500 calories less, each day, than I burn, thereâ€™s no rule that says I canâ€™t burn extra calories. Our whole family rushed off to the YMCA, and I â€˜earnedâ€™ an extra 600 calories for the evening. While this diet rages, I may find myself much more willing to visit the local Y. Yesterday was a good day for that: I increased my annual visit average by at least 50%.
I canâ€™t complain, all evidence to the contrary. I lost another pound this week, bringing me to a total loss of 9 pounds, at least 5 of them legitimate. That puts me on track for my goal of 28 pounds lost by May 20. Some days I feel that I am getting the hang of it, but on others, May 20 seems a long way away. And then thereâ€™s the question of what I will do in May? Even if I lose the targeted 28 pounds, Iâ€™ll still be 30 pounds overweight, according to the fiendish weight/height calculator gnomes.
My weight-loss plan.
One six-month-horrific-diet-plan at a time, I guess.
Some ten of you have promised to pray for me, at least 4 times a week; please know that I have been keeping up my end of the bargain, praying for each of you by name, six days a week. I credit the relative ease of this diet and the success I am enjoying, to the work of the Holy Spirit in my life, and I commend you for your continued prayer-work on my behalf.
Maybe if you really pray for me, next time I’m in the city, I’ll even get a hard-boiled egg.