The way my egg cracked for today’s breakfast was strangely appropriate. I held the egg as I normally do, an egg similar in shape and size to the ones I normally use, and tapped it against the chopping block with the same force as always. Still, the egg in my hand formed an odd vertical crack until the two halves lay in my right hand like an open silly putty container. I blinked in surprise and, as the egg slid broken into the bowl, stared at the shell trying to figure out what went wrong.
That’s how I feel about my diet lately so, yes, it was strangely appropriate that my egg cracked as if it had a mind of its own.
My diet. My stupid, confusing, mind-screwing diet. I continue to eat correctly. I don’t cheat. I follow the rules and do everything else as usual and, yet, I am wallowing under a blanket of malcontent. My grains are low glycemic, but I have yet to recapture the verve and vigor I had the first month. I just don’t have energy. I frequently feel cloudy and unmotivated. I procrastinate more than usual and am loathe to get up from my desk chair and make myself lunch. And, of course, I haven’t lost weight.
Diane warned me that the addition of grains would cause a water shift of about three pounds. Three pounds that I would lose within a week or so. It took me nearly three, and that’s only because I cut out two of the daily grain servings. I have an appointment with her soon, so I added back the missing two grains in guilt. Along with the grains, I regained the three pounds in water weight overnight. This means I have not lost any weight this month.
Diane has a very normal, centered approach to food, so she is quick to remind me that a platueu is normal and healthy. I am neither normal or centered when it comes to food, so a still scale is all but killing me. I remind myself that my clothes seem a bit looser. But then I consider that I wear the same jeans almost everyday because they are the only clothes that fit me. For all I know, they are loose because I am wearing them threadbare.
I’m not obtuse enough to miss that my dissatisfaction with my diet coincides neatly with my plateau. In fact, I am painfully aware of the coincidence and want to gnash my teeth in response to being so obsessed with the numbers on the scale.
When? When will I have a normal response to food? When will I pick up a simple banana and not recite in my head the calorie count and major vitamins and minerals? When will I objectively watch my weight creep up three pounds and acknowledge it healthy and temporary?
When pigs fly, I suppose.