Day eleven comes to a close. It’s been a good day; after a healthy breakfast of porridge and fruit, I went on an eight mile walk with my girlfriend and two of our friends. I should note that, prior to declaring war on the chubber, I did go on a fair few long walks a year. It was, and still is, great exercise, however it was some of the only exercise I would get. The walks themselves would hurt my back and my knees would be killing by the end due to carrying too much weight. Today didn’t present those problems too much, and I’m only hurting in the right ways – throughout my muscles and in equal measure all over my body. Afterwards, I came home and had a small portion of home-made chilli with brown rice and salad. Healthy all around, and I feel great for it.
As you have probably guessed from the title, I want to discuss so-called ‘cheat meals’. Some people call them treat meals, and this is somewhat problematic for me, as I cannot decide who they would be a treat for – myself, or the chubber living inside of me. I’ve decided to err on the side of caution and treat them wholly as cheat meals. I am going to outline publicly how I am managing negative foodstuffs in my life with regards to social circles and other inescapable situations where I just have to eat something that will empower the chubber.
I have decided that I am allowed one cheat meal a week. This can be anything, but it must be a measure portion and cannot be in conjunction with any other kind of cheat meal. We can’t allow the chubber to sneak an apple pie with custard into proceedings, especially if I’ve just enjoyed a carvery Sunday lunch that includes roast potatoes and big old Yorkshire puddings, can we? That would be denial, which is an emotion the chubber will feed upon, leading me down a greasy trail that ends with more grease and fat than is good for any man.
The reason I am allowing myself one cheat meal is because I do not expect my friends to suffer because of my war. Yesterday was my oldest friend’s birthday. His mum threw a party and much fun was had by all. There was a buffet and everyone was drinking. At this type of social event, I would have usually had a hefty portion of everything on the buffet and tidied away ten (plus) cans of lager. So last night, rather than be that guy that preaches about giving up drinking for health, I limited my alcohol intake; I had six bottles of Foster’s Gold over the space of around five and half hours. A major restraint and cutback on intake if you consider the facts. I also only at the fresh chicken and the salad from the buffet. Therefore, the cheat meal was the beer and I didn’t have anything else that could be classed as cheating, as the food I ate didn’t present any threats to the campaign. I would like to note here that I am very proud of this. It was new, and it wasn’t easy smelling the breaded chicken, or to look at the cheeses on the buffet table, and not be tempted. The chubber still lives inside me, after all, and he still craves.
Just to crunch the numbers, I had around 600 calories in five and a half hours instead of the 1000+ calories I would have ingested in the cans of a similar lager. I also avoided around 250 calories by avoiding cheeses, breaded meat and pastry on the buffet. For me, that’s pretty damn fine restraint, and a smack in the face for the chubber. My cheat meal approach is working, and I have severe close friends on hand making sure that either the chubber, or I, ‘accidentally’ have too many cheat meals a week. There’s safety in numbers, after all.
On a side note, I will be posting recent stats that I am recording, just to publicly expose where I am with regards to this journey. Therefore, if I allow myself to put on 7 pounds, it is there as a weapon for others to use against me. I’m a proud fellow, and shame is a great motivator when one has let a chubber rampage unchecked through Downtown Los Appetite.
Thanks for your support.
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