Faturday

Today's Weight: 207
Goal Weight: 175

For those of you who know me, you know I have a beautiful wife. My wife is the type of woman that you just have to look at; when she's walking through the mall or waiting in line for coffee, there is no end to the amount of men who check her out. She's beautiful. I had one girlfriend before I went out with her. That girlfriend dumped me because she thought I was in love with Chelsee. These are the types of things her beauty is capable of.
I, on the other hand, am not quite as desirable. Where she is a near perfect specimen, I am simply a specimen. I won't go too hard on myself; I'd say I'm somewhere in the middle...maybe the 52nd percentile. Throughout my married life, I have been a complete yo-yo dieter. While I've never hit the obese mark, I have come quite close to rounding that corner once or twice. I have been very round, indeed.
The year before we got married, I lived in the states where I couldn't work, couldn't get paid, couldn't eat much more than eggs and cheese. I walked Everywhere, miles a day, so when I arrived back home, I was a neat little 165. I bought a shirt from LeChateau for my wedding, Size small. However, by the time the wedding came, those size small buttons were awfully close to popping, and, after the wedding, I only increased in circumference.
Before I knew what was happening, I woke up one morning to some blinking blue lights screaming in my face, 218, 218. Ick. Round. From there I went hardcore on this working out, eating healthy kick, and I got down to 186. It's easy to get lazy at 186, so I sat down on the couch until I was once again over two hundy at 209. I went back to the gym, drank some water and made it to 189. Today, I am 207. One pound heavier than when I started the blog...
The problem with going on a diet, for me, is that now I am on a diet. The world is not the same when I am on a diet. Before the diet, Pizza is just something you eat every now and then when you're hanging with the boys and watching football. The moment I start a diet, pizza becomes an incredibly beautiful thing. I dream all day of the cheese oozing down, of the pepperoni sitting so perfect, of the bacon...oh, the bacon. Each slice of Diet pizza is like a little slice of heaven. With every bite, I feel a little closer to the Savior, like each one causes my wings to grow a little bigger. Until I'm done, then I look at my tummy and think there is no amount of wing power or pixie dust, or faery flowers that could even pick me up off the couch.
On a diet, the drive down Albert is torture. The Golden Arches start blinking in high velocity neon. If I can make it past one of them, the next one only laughs at me. "Come and get it," it says with it's hysterical little smile, and I can hardly help it. If it's possible to drive away from the second, the third one stops laughing, he only smiles. His stupid little sign comes to life, saying not "over a billion served." No, that takes away the grandeur. The third one tells me I'm the first, "Come, try something new. Try the Big Mac, it's delicious. Be the first to try a McChicken, Quarter Pounder, McNugget. The options are Endless!" it says to me, and I quickly pull into the drive-through.
The moment I start a diet, donuts are no longer just yummy little circles of cake and icing; they are now a life saving tool, a life preserver thrown out to me in a sea of rice cakes and fruit-to-gos. I bite down with my bicuspids and incisors, and for a second, I can breath easy.
A bottle of coke, becomes the Holy Grail; If I can just get away from this Coke Zero and it's aspartame and Zero calorie boringness. If I can just have one sip of the Real Deal, my life will be complete.
I say all of that to say, I screwed up on my diet already. I'm sure you guessed it.
I'm in the middle of a set of nights at the group home I work at. Sunday morning, one of the kids woke up with the McDonald's theme song in their head. The moment that stupid little jingle, "BaDa Ba Ba Ba" came out of his mouth, that was it; the tempter of my soul, Ronald McDonald, came dancing into my brain, and he was juggling an egg McMuffin, a bacon and egg McMuffin and a medium Coke. Every time the kid hummed the tune, it only solidified my decision: I was eating McDonald's after work.
By the time i got there, breakfast was over, but I was determined.
"Uh...can I get a McChicken meal, supersized, with a coke, no ice...uh...and ten McNuggets." I know, I'm disgusting, but at least we know something in my life is changing: I didn't immediately order a Big Mac Meal.
I took it all home. Chelsee just laughed at me, but I assured her it was just this once.
By lunch time I desperately wanted pizza. I convinced Chels to have it with me. And then for the grand finale, I got some Timbits to wash it all down.
Sunday was no longer Sunday, it was Faturday. One day, full of whatever fatty foods I wanted. I went to work that night with a bellyache of the worst kind. The next day I had only an orange, but today, I'm 207.
It's ok. I'm not discouraged. I'm having fun. Faturday was fun, but I know, I've gotta do better. Nobody wants to read a diet blog about how the blogger gets fatter each day.
I just hope tomorrow I'll be at least back at the starting line.
Thanks for reading.