Dearest Rachel –
I’ll say one thing for these weekends in which I’ve purposed myself to go without eating for forty-plus hours; they make Monday that much more bearable (even setting aside the fact that I don’t have to worry about going to work anymore). At least this morning, I can finally allow myself something to eat, even if it is little more than a large bowl of cereal, a bunch of grapes and a piece of toast with peanut butter and cheese.
The strange thing is, it’s not as if I’m utterly famished at this point, even after two separate sessions at the gym since my last meal. In theory, if I could keep myself otherwise occupied, I might be able to go a full forty-eight hours, and then some, without eating. Although, at this point, I actually think that pushing my luck that way would be a bad idea; just because I can doesn’t mean that it would be advisable. As interesting as it might be to find out what my limits are – both in terms of actual hunger and the boredom that often leads to what we referred to as ‘mouth-hunger’ – it’s not a necessary thing for me to do, and it might be medically dangerous to take it too far (not that I’ve any idea how far that is, but it’s probably better that I not chance it).
The thing is, this weekend has felt a little more imperative than most, not because I need to lose the weight (at least, no more so than any other point in this two-and-a-half year long journey), but that I’m within sight of a new milestone. The only trouble is that, just as it’s within my grasp, I slide back to where I can no longer feasibly reach it. Unlike with the law of gravity, what goes up doesn’t necessarily come down; when it comes to making progress on these goals along the way, I have to figure out how to make my weight descend without stumbling too much on my way down.
Last Thursday proved to be particularly notable, as I woke up with a weight under two-fifteen for what I’m pretty sure was the first time; I’d gotten below that mark several times – and indeed, this had been the four day in a row of reaching or surpassing it – but in order to get there, I had to hit the gym and burn a thousand calories first. To start my day already below that level… well, that was a whole new running start on the path. And sure enough, after my now-usual workout routine, I stepped out of the shower and onto the scale to see a brand new number for me – two hundred ten. Yes, it had the niggling issue of a “point-five” after it, letting me know I hadn’t actually reached, let alone crossed, this new milestone, but I was within sight of it, and that was enough for me at the time.
The only problem with this was that this was (as I mentioned) on a Thursday; this was to be the night Daniel and I go over to the folks’ hours for dinner, so that Mom can keep in practice with her cooking skills. At least, that’s how she frames it; more often than not, she’s getting something from the local butcher or grocery that requires only the addition of meat and heat in order to complete. Still, most such semi-prepared comestibles are family-sized portions; they’re not optimal for a single person like herself (since Dad ‘eats’ through a feeding tube, he doesn’t count for these purposes anymore) or for Daniel and myself (as if the two of us could ever agree on a single dish we wanted to eat at the same time). Doing this as a family arrangement works out best for all concerned.
And having gotten down to such a low weight, it seemed reasonable for me to splurge a little, in terms of consuming calories. Mom had prepared tacos for us this night, and I’m not sure I should be embarrassed to admit that I ate a half-dozen of them (for what it’s worth, I don’t think I was the only one; Daniel matched me, serving for serving. Of course, I’m half again the man he is; at least I’m no longer twice the man, but still…). But I will admit that, upon preparing for bed, I couldn’t resist checking my weight, despite knowing I shouldn’t (weighing oneself right before bed does awful things to one’s self-esteem and sense of progress, I’m told). Sure enough, I was all the way back up to two-eighteen. Not good, to be sure, but at the same time, it suggested that the two-twenty (or, if you prefer, hundred kilo) line has been crossed for good – at least for the foreseeable future, as long as I stay on this disciplined path. In essence, I’m at a new ceiling level, even if I hadn’t made my way to a new floor.
But that was the objective throughout the course of this weekend; and, thanks to my assignment in the booth, I figured I could distract myself sufficiently to not think much about eating, thereby possibly getting me down to the same level as I had been Thursday morning. In fact, I even took the opportunity to hit the gym yesterday after church, as I came home to the boys watching their usual podcast on YouTube at a volume that I couldn’t drown out – even on my side of the house – unless I were to shut the bedroom door behind me (which, for reasons that are awkward to explain, I’m loathe to do; it tends to suggest that I’m up to something that I couldn’t possibly be without you, honey). At least in the gym, I could watch the Bears game on one of the televisions there (well, the important part, anyway, where they came back to win. Have to enjoy that, as I don’t know how many of those I’m going to get to see) while I burned off calories that I wasn’t matching with consumption.
Likewise – after waking up this morning with an even lower weight than on Thursday – I was almost eager to put in another four miles or so uphill, to see if I could make it to the same level I reached the other day. And, in fact, when I got home, I was down to the same weight by the time I was ready to step into the shower.
But once I was out, and has dried myself off, I found, to my dismay, that I was still above this hoped-for milestone. In fact, I had apparently either not dried myself off completely, or I’d absorbed a half-pint of water into my skin via osmosis, as I was now up to two-eleven, instead. Hey, it happens – and I admit, I likely hadn’t been keeping myself sufficiently hydrated – but it’s mildly disappointing to see. Still, I don’t expect to be pigging out any time soon, so I’ll probably be hovering within this range for a little while. Maybe in a day or two, I’ll actually see myself “counting coup” on this mark; maybe even passing it.
But until then, honey, keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 