I’ve gotten a little hefty during this pandemic, with its associated restrictions and my penchant for eating my way through adversity. There have been half-hearted attempts to correct the course and get back onto the straight and narrow, but these have all, thus far, been a dismal display of willpower and resolve.
Since Saturday though, I have been the poster-child of Paleo and Intermittent Fasting. Which means… I’ve been grumpy AF.
My body… and maybe my psyche are not happy with me.
The wife and I have a ‘friendly’ wager going on as to who can loose the most weight in August (as a percentage, not actual kilograms)
I am nothing if not competitive. I also know, having done this before, that a massive carbohydrate deficit while starving yourself for sixteen hours every day is the key to victory (in this case).
Day three is always the worst though… or maybe its day five… I can’t remember. Its when the homicidal thoughts reach their zenith and you can imagine quite happily murdering someone for a piece of chocolate cake. After that the pain starts to ebb and you get used to the new normal. Until you fall off the wagon further down the road again…
I mean, I have no reason to believe this time will be any different and there is obviously some doubt that I will be able to ‘stick the landing’… Joeys recent history folder is a litany of dietary failure. But I remain hopeful.
On the plus side…
… everything for breakfast today (with the exception of the medium rare ostrich steak) came from my garden.
And I’ve gotten the pickling mixture right for my radishes… ha, so they don’t taste like crunchy bites of apple-cider vinegar anymore. *shudder*
I do miss the ‘bread’ component though. Bacon and scrambled egg with a nice thick wedge of toasted sour-dough is one of the corner stones of civilization.
I will miss you bread.