Let’s talk about weight loss.
I expect to lose between thirty and forty-five pounds under the tree. Up to a pound a day for the first three weeks and about half-a-pound a day for the last four weeks.
I’m five foot and eight. I’m slender. I weigh one-sixty-two (as of this writing) and we’re aiming for one-seventy by September 1st.
I despise these things. All summer long I’ve been drinking these protein/calorie shakes, awfulness made of sugar and whey made in Utah, where they can make any claim they like about anything.. All the sugar has brought on candiasis which has made my breath sour and has wreaked havoc with my urinary tract. Weird bladder infections and phantom urges have made me neurotic, casting doubt on things clad in certainty, like bathroom visits. At least I’m not my friend, Josh. He’s thirty-one with kidney-stones. That’s a betrayal, by comparison. Fasting is a cure for Candida, thank mercy. I have no idea what folks do for kidney stones.
As for my regular diet, I’ve been eating pasta and ice cream and pasta and eggs and chicken and McDonalds and pasta and eggs and these damned shakes (fifteen-hundred calories when mixed with two cups of whole milk) and steak and rice and I eat sugared muffins and chocolate bars and double portions. This has been ridiculous. My friend Matt says that the gut I’m developing is ‘cute’.
I’m not sure how I’m going to keep weight on in September. Moving from solid food to juices doesn’t offer a lot of options, calorie-wise. How many spinach/kale/avocado/mint smoothies can you drink in a day? For how many days in a row? Thankfully, that’s just the last three weeks. In the meantime, this chocolate thing is almost all choked down. In a minute the bloating will start and my body will start reacting to the sudden influx of carbohydrates; a flushing pervasive heat that nearly induces nausea, makes my upper lip shine with sweat, and provides a haunting feeling of having to poop.
Ugh. There’s that awful pressure.
Every day sunshine.