Friends?

I will not hide that I had hoped that I would receive a significant number of comments similar to

(i) Why would you be on a diet?
(ii) You look great!
(iii) I wish I looked like you.

Or alike. I am saddened to report that I got none. (FN1)

Rather, I got plenty of comments encouraging me to stick with my diet plan. It alarms me that my friends have no mercy, and instead of reassuring me of their unconditional love and devotion, they cheer my downsizing efforts. Instead of their affection I get exercise tips and suggestions regarding the ideal portion size. No wonder I turned to food.

I allow that some of them may have good intentions (although, we know the final destination of the road those intentions pave!). My favorite female red head veterinarian, Valery, suggested that “[b]asically, eat right and exercise. You don't have to eat non-deliciously, you just have to control portion size so that you're only eating as many calories as you need.” But how many calories do I need? (FN2)

Determined that this lack of unconditional love and understanding will not deter me from regaining my super-slim figure (followed by de-friending all these non-loving and non-understanding friends I accumulated over years), I rushed to the gym this morning and completed 30 minutes of that terrible stair master machine where one actually climbs the real stairs, escalator type, followed by an hour of weight lifting (this time with Humberto).

All that exercise of course made me very, very hungry.

When I arrived to my office, hungry and all, and while reviewing the worldwide news, I came across a story about Jason Dinant’s and his quest for six-peck. This copy cat, will you believe it, eats 16 egg(whites) a day! 16! I hate to think of implications for the sex life of hens across this great country if more Americans (or legal aliens, as in my case) were to adopt this diet. I was not given taste buds to eat 16 egg whites a day! Not to mention that all those egg whites can (and will!) cause some serious bloating problems and some deadly winds. (FN3)

The diet, I find, ought to be realistic. Something one can do without constantly feeling that all the pleasures of this world must be sacrificed for a promise of a smaller mid section. Therefore, I decided to

(i) keep exercising
(ii) keep eating
(iii) keep eating everything I like to eat
(iv) but perhaps not all of it

After all, Paul and I are off to Nougatine again this Monday to celebrate the first thee weeks of my diet, and then there’s Bill’s birthday dinner at Blue Hill at Stone Barns. You diet there if you’d like.

FN1: Okay, so I got one. I considered “I got one”, but “I got none” sounded way more dramatic.
FN2: This is a rhetoric question.
FN3: Ok, so he does eat brown rice as well, and sweet potatoes (which I find delicious myself), chicken, even broccoli with gas-creating properties similar to egg whites, but arguably of lesser potency.

Time lost

Ever since I saw the last episode of the Biggest Loser, where Jillian stated that “scale does not lie,” and that certain trainers' claims that one can be loosing inches, if not pounds, is "bulls$%t", I've been slightly concerned about my own progress. Is scale really that accurate (I have a real nice one, it's see through…)?? Could all the time I spent doing cardio be annulled by my occasional indulgence in something that actually tastes good? This morning I felt particularly light, and decided it's time to measure my progress. And there was none.

Two weeks into this, and I only managed not to get any bigger. I see two possible solutions:

(i) Despair. This one has obvious benefits, as I could have all my favorite foods and not feel any worse for eating them, for I am in the state of utter desperation and can be comforted only by various delicacies. A possible shortcoming of this alternative is that I could gain more weight, thus making it even harder to reach my weight-related goals. Turning 40 and weighing 240 would be somewhat depressing…

(ii) Assess the situation at hand; learn from the mistakes of the past two weeks, and … do what? Clearly, I need Jillian to guide me. (I also need Bob, but I see him in a less advisory and more, hmmm, affection-providing role).

I am considering jump-starting my efforts (only three weeks until my trip to Florida!) by ordering EverCleanse. This product, in essence, promises the user the best s$%t ever! Pounds can be shaded by one glorious poop, and that would certainly create a momentum necessary to motivate me to persevere in my struggle. Once I relief myself of the unnecessary burden of colonic deposits, the new found lightness should improve my cardio performance! Starting today, I pledge to break sweat once a day every day before my Miami trip (and with some luck, it will be hot enough over there that I can keep my daily perspiration going even without the struggles associated with exercising).

This brings us to food… Which I love. Dearly.

Since my last entry, I only had a couple of real food-related failures:

1. I had a bag of (healthy) chips while watching the Biggest Loser. And last Tuesday was my good day, very lean, consciencious meals for breakfast, lunch and (almost) dinner.

2. Almost a full bag of roasted unsalted (!) hazelnuts. From a wonderfully well-supplied Italian store in Chelsea Markets. Where I also purchased various jars of honey with proven health, if not weight loss, benefits.

Aahhh… All this food-related contemplation made me a bit hungry. More on my diet plans later.

Bikram

In my January 27 post, I mentioned that I was considering Bikram Yoga as one of possible solutions for my growing waist problem. I tested it this past weekend, and have to report that I have doubts.

I should first update you on my progress over this past weekend:

1. I was fairly disciplined during Howard's welcome dinner (Bill, Joe and Tom were in attendance as well, although Bill does not want to be mentioned in this blog) at El Parador, where I had only a couple of sips of their delicious margarita, a countable amount of chips, and fairly conservative servings of beef fajitas and paella. Of course, I had to have their peanut butter stuffed jalapenos! They are out of this world good, very low in bad fat if you avoid pieces of pork skins that garnish the plate, and remember to put some toilet paper in the freezer for the morning-after bathroom visit.

2. Saturday I worked out with Brad at Definitons and met Paul, Joe and Howard for lunch at Daddy's Diner. I had a salad. Which was giant, but completely utterly forgettable. There was nothing good about that salad, and its mare size cannot qualify as a plus. I wanted to go to Gramercy Tavern, but found myself in a minority, a clear case against democracy and in favor of benevolent dictatiorship.

3. After a nap attempt, we were ready to go for a failing economy-conscious meal at Great New York Noodle Town in Chinatown. Not a place for a dieter. Enough sad. (FN4)

4. Sunday morning, after a suitable serving of light cereal, I followed Howard for our Bikram class. For those unenlightened, Bikram attempts to recreate the conditions found in Calcutta, India during the Monsoon season right here in New York, and with a generous use of space heaters and humidifiers manages to create a steamy environment where half naked practitioners put themselves into some fairly difficult positions. The class is planned so that, in no time, your heart is pounding, you start feeling dizzy and concerned you may pass out while gracefully balancing in a position best suited for Michelle Kwan. It was unpleasant. But I was sweating and losing weight! Or so I thought. Now, let me observe that the men who attended the noon class were not, how can I describe it... Inspirational? A grave injustice became apparent:

The Great Injustice: Paul and I both have weightlifter shoulder, but neither of us, at the moment at least, has a weightlifter body. A hot, lean, weightlifter to be precise. Yet, after my first Bikram class, and with no yoga-specific injury to report, I realized I had a yoga body! Not the slim kind, but rather the type with that jelly-like quality to it. Would it be too much to ask, require even, that if one has a sport-specific injury, one should have the sport-specific body. What's good having a tennis elbow without being 6.4" and 195 lbs?

5. Shattered by this injustice, overheated from my Bikram class, and with piercing headache, I attended a Super Ball party and had more than one pig in the blanket.

This morning I woke up feeling weak and unwell. The scale revealed that it was not because I suddenly lost weight. No. 231. Was the week one wasted?? At least I have the cookbooks...


P.s My dear and insanely talented friend Roman suggested that this beautiful undergear number would be much more appropriate for my South Beach vacation... Alas, although marvelously crafted, this great creation is of wrong color.

FN1: To balance this poor judgment, I purchased two (cook)books that are certain to give me an edge in my growing struggle. I considered purchasing one more which recommended eating practically nothing for 21 days, promising the willing sufferer an incredible weight loss totaling, you guessed right, 21 pounds. Which sounds great, and I may even go for it if I am at 221 pounds 21 day before June 19.