Not Instant, But Gratifying

Dearest Rachel –

Setting aside the fact that I’ve explicitly told you numerous times over the course of the last thousand days, I’m sure you could figure out on your own that I don’t enjoy any aspect involved in what I often refer to as my ‘weight loss journey.’ Between the exertions of my workout routine, and the temptations (to say nothing of the crushing boredom) involved in my attempts to fast over the weekends, there’s nothing about the experience to recommend to anyone.

Well… almost nothing; I’ll get to that eventually.

This particular weekend has proven to be a representative case of this sort of thing. The first of four straight weekends of working in the booth (last weekend, of course, having been blacked out only by dint of Marathon Sunday; otherwise this would have likely been the third of six), this leaves Daniel to tend for himself (which, thankfully, he does – with some encouragement from Logan, who never misses an evening meal), so I don’t impose my regimen upon him. The hours spent in the booth also serve to occupy my time and attention – mostly, anyway; I’ve occasionally joked that I can practically do the job in my sleep, and I’ve come far too close to proving it more times than I’m willing to admit – so that I’m not dwelling too much on what I’m forcing myself to miss out on.

It does mean that I find myself having to tell the others what I’m doing, however. Not so much out of boastfulness, so much, as a means of both apology and a request for accountability. The former comes from the fact that, occasionally, the Saturday night crew will go out for dinner together. To be sure, I would never have done this back in the day, as I’d generally be wanting to get back home to the two of you. However, in the last couple of years, I have gone out with the others on occasion – although I would often find myself wondering what to do for Daniel in the meantime. These days, I generally beg off with this as my excuse – which allows me to ensure that I get something for the boys on the way home. Yes, it’s exposing myself to as much temptation (if not more – I could sneak something into the order that I’m picking up for them, and nobody would be the wiser) as if I went out with the crew, but at least I have the option to not get anything; it feels awkward to be in a restaurant on my own and not order anything.

The accountability request becomes a factor on Sunday mornings, especially on mornings like yesterday, when one member of the team will bring in certain preparations for the praise and production teams to enjoy in the green room between services. He and his wife are excellent cooks – I’m not sure which to give credit to, but as they brought in two different breakfast casseroles, I’ll assume each of them worked on one – and the aroma from their efforts came dangerously close to seeping out into the auditorium, where, ironically or fortuitously, the message was on “hungering and thirsting for righteousness” (which I might send you a letter on in and of itself later on this week, as I had a few observations and remembrances pertaining to it that I’d like to bring to your attention). The scent could easily be enough to stimulate the hunger of the individual audience members so that they could relate to the hunger that Jesus’ own audience might have been feeling as they listed to this particular line as He began His sermon on the mount.

I did what I could to resist the temptation of the smells emitted by these casseroles; I even disregarded the fruit and coffee he’d also brought while the others indulged. I should make it clear that I’d no problem with watching the others eat; better that they should consume it all, and remove the temptation from me. I just hope the fact that I wasn’t partaking didn’t serve to put a damper on anyone else’s enjoyment.

By the time the services were over, though, I’d already gone a full twenty-four hours without eating. I could just as easily have put an end to my self-imposed restriction at that point. But really, I was trying to see myself through the entirety of a day, rather than a set time frame. I wanted to get through, and see myself to bed without having had to surrender to hunger.

But this was the part of the day where it actually got difficult. No longer did I have others aware of what I was trying to do (and respecting it, to a certain point, even if they might have thought it a bit odd) and helping me stay on the straight and narrow. No longer did I have one responsibility or another to keep my mind occupied and off the subject of food, and how long it had been since I’d had any. I did set my new computer through the paces of creating a new, more detailed LoRA from your old photographs, in an effort to make one compatible with the latest, higher-resolution base model, but once I got everything running, it was more a matter of letting the computer grind through the training process; there wasn’t all that much for me to do, personally. I found myself debating about whether or not to grab the pita chips I’d purchased on a recent grocery run, and just break my fast then and there, but I also reminded myself that I had passed on Roy’s french toast casserole, and wouldn’t that have been better? If I was going to cheat, why cheat with just some pita chips? Best to just power my way through the rest of the evening, even if I can smell whatever it is that the boys are cooking in the kitchen.

You can probably guess that it wasn’t an easy thing to do. But I managed.

I also managed to wake up shortly before five in the morning (after dealing with a small nightmare of having left carry-on luggage on the first leg of a connecting flight to Helsinki, of all places; Daniel was left having to talk me down from my panic as we wandered through an indeterminate airport, trying to get back on the original plane to find the stuff I’d left behind before I shook myself awake), and decided that, on top of all this time spent not eating, I needed to go to the gym and burn off that many more calories. After all, what else was there for me to do at this hour?

And so I went, going through my usual routine – although I did rest for a moment in the middle of the rowing cycle, and stopped at only five minutes on the stairs, rather than ten. I still managed to burn through just a little under a thousand calories, and came home to wash up and get ready for the real part of the day.

But first, I had to check, and see if any of this had provided any results. For the last two weeks, I’d been yo-yoing between 235 (my license weight) and 230 (my next milestone), with only a couple of moments peeking back above the former while only touching the latter once. Had I finally managed to break through this particular cycle?

This was not the instant gratification of the pita chips, or even the french toast casserole, but it was gratifying to see, all the same. Sure, I’ve still got a long way to go before I get to where I think I ought to be (and I’ve not gotten to the point where I’ve gotten Megumi’s attention – or at least, she hasn’t come to mine), but this is a milestone broken through.

I’m sorry, as always, that I never attempted any of this while you were still here – I’d like to think you would be both proud of my accomplishment, and appreciative of the physical results – but I’m not sure either of us would have pushed the other so hard to change the habits we’d allowed ourselves to develop. And it’s not something I enjoy in the slightest, apart from the fact that I get these little moments to see the measurable results.

Regardless, though, thanks for keeping an eye on me, and wishing me luck. I have, and always will, need it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go get myself some breakfast.