My bathroom scale and I are friends again. In 20 days of the Daniel diet, I have lost at least 21 lbs. It’s actually probably more, because around 10 days before I started this my scale went on strike, causing me such despondency that I crawled into a hole and binged until I scared myself enough to go public with Phase 1 of a practical plan to change.
Maybe going public is what made the difference. I didn’t want to go on here – even with my pathetically few (albeit hugely valued!!!) followers – and admit that I’d failed. Again. Plus, your words of encouragement really helped – thank you! More than that, something inside my head has clicked. I just, quite simply, don’t want to live here any more.
The good news is that my head continues to be clear. No more brain fog! This morning, just for the heck of it, I did a Mensa quiz – just a fun thing I found online – and I was able to do most of it in my head, while lying in bed, using my not-smart-enough-for-Mensa phone. Then I had to get up to work something out using algebra, and my phone took the opportunity to check out, so I have no idea how I did on the test … but the point is, I was thinking clearly enough to enjoy the challenge.
Also, various body parts – in particular, ankles – don’t hurt any more. The relief of being able to move without pain is huge! (Despite not being young and beautiful or having a handsome prince handy (sorry, Honey), I acquired a whole new insight into the suffering of The Little Mermaid, who felt as though she was walking on knives.)
And I’m no longer hungry. When I started this, no matter how full I stuffed myself with veggies and fruit my body screamed relentlessly for MORE. Now I’m satisfied by a large bowl of oatmeal or fruit and almonds for breakfast, a generous serving of veggies with rice, couscous, sweet potato or potato for lunch, and fruit and almonds for supper. I try to remember to eat in between – just a few pieces of dried fruit or a few nuts – because my blood sugar tends to crash with little warning, but I’m seldom actually hungry.
The lack of variety – due mainly to my unwillingness to spend hours in preparation time – is boring, but the only real craving I’m experiencing is for latte. This is odd because I don’t really care for coffee, but I miss meeting friends in coffee shops – and my emerging body would like to celebrate these times with just a plain latte, not one of the cream-and-caramel-infested concoctions I used to choose, and no need for a cookie.
The big challenge continues to be low energy levels. I am eager to be up and doing and it doesn’t hurt like it used to, but I run out of steam in no time at all. This is partly because I’m taking in few calories (although I eat as much and as often as I want to), but I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s also because I have absolutely no muscle tone.
Tell people you’re involved in dog rescue, and the picture that comes to their minds is of someone who spends a lot of time going walkies and throwing balls. This can be true for dog foster parents, but not if you’re running the rescue. For five years, my life narrowed down to my computer (lots and lots and LOTS of emails, plus endless paperwork), my phone (calls started at 6.00AM and were still coming in as late as 2.00AM – “I just picked up a dog and I think it’s hurt and I don’t know what to do!” “My dog is having puppies and one seems to be stuck and I don’t know what to do!” “My neighbor’s dog is chained up and it can’t get out of the rain and I don’t think they’re feeding it and I don’t know what to do!” “I’m moving to another state tomorrow and I can’t take my dog and I don’t know what to do!”), my car (picking up dogs, transporting dogs, taking dogs to the vet), and the vet’s office. Sitting and stressing and stressing and sitting.
By the time I burned out at the end of last year, I was no longer capable of doing much beyond reading, eating, sleeping and sobbing into my pillow, so that’s how I spent the first half of this year. Result: muscle tone as close to zero as it can be without my arms and legs falling off.
So today I pulled a battered little book out of my bookshelf. It’s called Physical Fitness, and my cousin passed it on to The Aged Crone when I was a teenager (this was before she was really a crone, of course) and I can remember chugging through those exercises with no trouble at all. They’re based on something developed by the Canadian Air Force and take only 12 minutes to do, so not an insurmountable challenge – or so I thought.
This morning I started at the very simplest level and two of the exercises just aren’t possible. Stand on one leg while lifting the other knee to my chest? You have got to be kidding me! Run? I managed a fast march, and after the required count of 50 (that’s 100 paces) I was a wobbling wreck. Jump 10 times? I have no shadow of doubt I would break something if I were ambitious (silly!) enough to try.
But I worked through the exercises anyway. And I will do so again tomorrow. And the next day. And every day. Because this person who has to rest after every. Single. Chore … this person who couldn’t keep up with a terminally ill friend when they went shopping together (happened yesterday) … is not the person I want to be.