The last couple of posts have been about food and philosophy and really cool discoveries in software and the power of hidden cardio. I’d planned to write this one about fruit, from the midnight pleasures of a dried white fig, simultaneously chewy, sweet and subtly crunchy, to the cool smoothness of perfectly ripe, unbruised avocado slices on top of a colby/jack quesadilla in the still-too-hot early morning. Those are the kinds of things that make this lifestyle change fun. They keep me going with eagerness into something new and positive, something that will make my life better.
That was the plan. The reality is that stuff happens. Here’s how that intended post started out:
If yesterday was a celebration of roast pork, today’s theme will be fruit. I was up a lot later after I posted last night, and about 1 AM I found myself with the munchies and facing a deficit of better than 500 calories even after that bag of popcorn. Der Roomie had eliminated the temptation of the last pint of gelato earlier in the evening, so that wasn’t an issue. I did want sweets, though, and we had dried white figs and dates in the house. I do love dates, but in the sweaty semidark of a long, thirsty night here in Sacramento, even the thought of a big, gooey medjool made my mouth feel stickier than it already was. Figs, though, are a whole other matter. The combination of chewy sweet and the subtle crunch of a thousand tiny seeds was perfect with yet another glass of water, and at 50 calories each, I was satisfied well before I ran out of room in my food diary.
Except, since it was after midnight and I’d wrapped up the previous day’s diary, the entry ended up on today’s snack list. Still, I thought I had plenty of the daily allotment left. But I didn’t. Between the heat, hunger and my own angst, I’ve been snacking on more of those awesome, comforting figs and a pile of triscuits, so dinner looks like it will be a light soup laden with veggies and chunks of pork with a salad, because I’ll be darned if I’m going to do anything to make myself sweat and breathe hard more than I have to today. I drank more than a gallon of water yesterday keeping myself hydrated, and I’m on my way to doing the same today. With a little luck and determination, I’m good at least until midnight.
Then Bryan brought me a Philly cheese steak sandwich from Jersey Mike’s, which sent me scrambling for the MFP database because it’s cheesesteak. That warm, drippy tangle of onions, mushrooms and thin sliced beef in molten white cheese had me within an inch of saying to hell with it and scarfing the whole thing. Instead, I had a quarter then while it was fresh, which was good, though I’d eaten some roast about an hour before. I had a half just now for dinner, and I have to say I like it better reheated. It’s sloppier. I also like sliding nine calories under the day’s limit like an evader in world chase tag, but midnight starts a new day, and that last quarter sandwich is doomed.
Unless stuff happens in the meantime.