I just got so hungry, you see.  I looked around my house, but nothing seemed appetizing.  I’m at a point in my diet now where I’m sick of eating the same things over and over.  I need to branch out a little bit, but being the World’s Pickiest Eater is definitely a bad point.  Nothing sounded good at all, and I kept torturing myself thinking about food.  I wanted something different.

I tried so hard to ignore it.  I tried so hard to put the thoughts aside, but the pain was too much.  The intense hunger crashed through my previously un-breakable willpower like the Kool-Aid man crashing though a brick wall.  I resisted so hard, but I just couldn’t do it.  I HAD to get some food… I HAD to.  And it couldn’t be a freaking sandwich or a lame salad.  I wanted substance.

Despite leaving a comment on Claire’s blog just earlier in the afternoon about not having been in a fast-food joint in a month, I broke down.  I couldn’t take it anymore, and I needed a fix.  I ended up at Fazoli’s and had me a plate of spaghetti and a breadstick, and damn was it ever delicious.  At least it wasn’t a massive fatty burger.  In the end, I still came in under my max calories for the day, so not all was lost.  It was a close one though.

It’s part of my exercise regimen, which also involves walking and hiking.  I’ve also begun a "diet" of sorts, which isn’t so much a diet as it is a philosophy of eating.

I’ve noticed two things during my recent rides, neither of which is good.  One, I’m seriously out of shape.  Like gasping, wheezing, soaked with sweat out of shape, and that’s just carrying my bike down the front stairs of my apartment.  Two, all of Utah is uphill in all four directions.  I mean, really… is it so much to ask for a break?  All of my bike-riding skills were forged in Ohio, which is flatter than Natalie Portman under a bus tire.  My body wasn’t designed to climb vertical surfaces on a personal, human-powered conveyance.  I look around me and see all the serious bikers, guys and girls with the full-getup, which includes the tight biker shorts, funky hat with sunglasses, yellow stretchy jersey, and clip-shoes, casually climbing 85-degree hills in 95-degree weather without even giving it a second thought, and I can only think "man, a big slice of pizza and an ice cold root beer, along with a big bowl of ice cream sounds really good right about now."

Which leads me to my next thought.  I’m always hungry these days.  My "diet" is really just a change in my eating habits.  Whereas before, I’d eat two or three gigantic meals every day, consisting of anything that moved slowly enough for me to jab with a fork, (especially if it included pepperoni.) Now I eat three or four very small meals, spaced out a bit.  When I say "meals", I mean something like a piece of toast with peanut butter.  Or an egg.  Under 1000 calories a day is what I’m starving myself with presently, and I’m always hungry. 

You would think that by eating several times per day, along with drinking approximately 50.7 ounces of water, my hunger would be satiated.  You would be wrong.  Never underestimate the power of desire, especially when you bike past an Apollo Burger routinely.  Several years of being fat have taught my subconscious that mass quantities of food are what I need, and no piddly egg is gonna change that.  I have paradigm issues to conquer for sure.

I’ve been on my diet and exercise deal now for almost two weeks, and by god, I do notice a difference.  One, my enormous super-orbital gut looks a little more deflated.  I don’t feel anywhere near as bloated or Hutt-like anymore, and my reflection occasionally shows a tantalizing glimpse of the old abdominal muscles.  I’m starting to feel better, and if I could deal with the hunger thing, I’d be in good shape.  I’m well on target for my September deadline for gut-freedom, and if I can keep the pace, it will happen even before that. 

I’m proud of me so far.  I’ve been able to will myself away from junky food.  I have a bottle of Sprite that I keep in my fridge as a reminder not to drink it.  It sits there, mocking me with it’s lemon-lime goodness, but I just scoff.  I will triumph over the Sprite, just as I will regain my wonderful 25 year-old body.  Just don’t ask me to climb that damn hill by my house on my bike anymore, and we’re cool.