Pish-Posh Challenge Week Two

The Pish-Posh 8-Week Challenge:

Week Two

This week I am proud to say that I walked 21.76 miles and burned 2359 calories, which is the equivalent of a whole pizza. Without toppings.

Still, let's see, I lost a total of ... +1 pounds.

I gained a pound.

This is puzzling; I have eaten exactly according to plan. Except when I deviated a few times, like that Chinese restaurant food, that Mexican meal I cooked, and that veggie pizza. But these were necessary to stay social with my wife. She's certainly not on a diet, and can't be expected to eat what I choose to.

Believe me, presenting diet food to her is only slightly less dangerous than handling your very first fire.

On an oil-rig.

So I'm waddling a fine line to keep this fragile peace. Cooking and cleaning two separate meals is not practical. I'd never get out of the kitchen.

Still, I got outside a bit and kept to the good habit I wanted to institute. If I keep that up I might successfully fight off gravity in the near future. As it is, I am only a few burgers away from my melting point. So those were also not good to have eaten. But when the wife offers you a burger, refusing it is not actually an option.

But I can't blame everyone else for everything. "No" is a word I mean to learn to employ.

"No" thanks, I had enough.

"No" I don't need to fill my plate.

"No" I don't need to taste something "new".

"No" I'm OK without wine tonight.

"No" seconds, please.

"No" cheese on mine.

"No" butter, thanks.

"No" dessert tonight, I'm on a mission.

"No" snacks needed. I'm just here to: play poker/watch a movie/get a haircut.

So I would call this a holding action this week. I need to gain ground by losing weight now to keep my morale fresh. Boredom will kill my willpower faster than outright defeat. So I will resolve again to eat less, and sleep more, and keep the walking up. 

I'm running a little bit, and with luck I could maintain it and be cutting my exercise time down a bit, and get some cardio and feel like a youngster again. A lot of luck.

This could be me. If they could transplant more hair from my head to my pits.

 And no cheese, meat, sugar, or fat. No problem. Oh, and no nuts.

Put those down right now.

 And lots of jogging.

 

 To avoid this:

I will post my fattest picture from the last decade if I fail this challenge. That's a terrible promise.

Epilogue:

Minor issues at home meant I did not get to eat before I went to the pub for poker. Ordered fish and chips, both items for the first time in years. Excuses out the wazoo: too hungry, might be comfort food, didn't want to drink on an empty stomach, hadn't tried their food yet. 

I can still feel it hours later, and it's not what my system is used to. The worst option I could have chosen of the tiny menu. Nobody's fault but mine. 


I keep forgetting why I don't have greasy food, like the fish and chips last night: NO GALL BLADDER. 

So my liver sees all that oily starch going past, and laughs over its shoulder:

"You got that, right, gall bladder? Right? ... aw DANG!" noticing the empty spot, and scrambles to do its best without any bile. 

Which means it treats everything with MAXIMUM POSSIBLE REJECTION. 

Luckily I had no cheese, which resists like Kryptonite and causes chaos. 

Just greasy fish and chips. 

The Upshot: After a horrible morning, I'm down two pounds.

Well, back to the straight and narrow path.

"I'm not a dog, and I don't live for treats"

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"I'm good enough. I'm smart enough. And doggone it, people like me."

The patron saint of foundering self-esteem. But doggone it, I do like him.