I knew this week was going to be difficult, so I'm not sad about the fact that I only lost a paltry 0.2lbs. In fact, given the circumstances, I'm fucking lucky I didn't put on! This week was going to be a challenge from the very start (I barely counted anything on my app), because there were going to be three 'eating out' events. And none of them involved me making particularly sensible choices.
My Monday fast was not as good as it could have been (605 calories, whoops!), but it also wasn't a total washout. So I drew a line under it and moved on. On Tuesday, a colleague and I went out for lunch — here we come, vegetarian Chinese buffet! We both regretted this decision three hours later when we were still uncomfortably full. I initially thought that the fact there was no meat involved would mean the calories wouldn't be as bad. But they still have spring rolls. And (veggie) prawn toast. And tempura vegetables. And chow mein. It turned out to be just too much food for lunch, so I won't be doing that in a hurry again.
Obviously, I didn't snack in the afternoon, and I didn't eat a very big dinner. The original plan was to eat NO DINNER, but we were having fajitas and I wanted some. My rationale was "If I eat now, I will only eat half as much as usual, because I am not that hungry. If I don't eat now, I guarantee I will be at hungry at 10pm, and then I will eat a whole big proper meal, on top of my massive lunch". Makes sense, right? Yes, of course it does. So I had two fajitas only (I accidentally put some bad cheese in my first one — grim. But I still ate it…), and then I thought I would have a little bit of cheese cake.
Now, I tell no word of a lie — we had two cheesecake pieces in the fridge (vanilla and billionaire's). I took a TINY piece off each. Each piece was about the length of my finger and not an awful lot wider — I wish I had taken a picture to show you how little they were. They looked like the kind of mini desserts you get with a coffee in a restaurant. In total, they weighed 100g. I was chuffed that I had been so good. So then I thought I had better tot up my calories on myfitnesspal. 50g of Tesco Finest Billionaire's Cheesecake is… wait for it… a WHOPPING 220 calories. I could not believe it. Seriously. It was so titchy! It killed me to press 'SAVE' on my app… 50g of New York Vanilla cheesecake only came up marginally better at 180 calories. I begrudgingly added that to my diary as well. So very, very fucked off, but I should have checked first. Whilst 5:2 is about having a bit of what you fancy and getting on with your life, I think cheesecake, along with garlic bread, must only be eaten on special occasions. The only thing that made me feel slightly better that evening is that I kinda had the shits — too much chilli oil at lunch? This is what constitutes as good news in my world.
So Tuesday, Blog Mate and I had planned a meet up/food fest. We had been perving on the menu for Shake Shack in Covent Garden all day, only to arrive and find out that a) the queue was fucking massive and b) it was more like a fancy McDonald's (ie. you get everything on a tray at once and sit down) rather than a place where two school friends could sit for ages and have a good old natter. So, with heavy hearts, we decided to go to Byron Burger instead.
Clearly, I was feeling the loss, because I felt really sad about not getting the food I had planned in my head — "Will we go again? Are you sure you want to eat here? We could always go back there…". But Blog Mate made it all better by assuring me we would definitely go back once the summer had passed and the tourists had fucked off, which was a brilliant idea. The menu at Byron didn't excite me particularly, but instead of going for the double cheeseburger (because it would be massive and fill the sad Shake Shack-shaped hole in my soul), I went for the chilli burger. And you know what? It was friggin' delicious. In fact, I got half way through it and was very thankful that I didn't go for the double burger (it was called The Big B — another reason I didn't order it) because it would have been too, well, big. I got to the last three mouthfuls of my burger and thought "Hmm, I could leave the rest of this…", but that just seemed like a really, really, stupid thing to do, so I finished it. Eheheheheh.
Seeing as none of the desserts were that appealing, we hunted down somewhere we could have some ice cream. We turned down a street, which I mistakenly thought was the same street we visited when we went to THAT teacher's restaurant. Laughing, my friend pointed out we visited his restaurant in Soho, and we were now very clearly in Covent Garden, so it definitely wasn't and we were safe. Silly me! So we had a giggle, and continued walking down it. But then, my face dropped. There, in the distance, I noticed a restaurant sign… No. Fucking. Way. Maybe it wasn't his restaurant? We got a bit clos... No, it DEFFO was. HUGE FUCKING CUNTS. WHY IS HE EVERYWHERE??? It's like I have have some kind of homing device… URGH. YES SIR, I AM 31 AND HAVE DONE NOTHING WITH MY LIFE YET! YES, I KNOW YOU STARTED YOUR HUGE EMPIRE AT THAT AGE AND I CANT EVEN FIND A PLACE THAT SELLS ICE CREAM, EVEN THOUGH I HAVE AN IPHONE AND GOOGLE MAPS! BUT SERIOUSLY, FUCK OFF!
Eventually — after a small but public spaz-out — we found an ice cream place. Now, I'm not a big ice cream eater. I like it, but I can't eat a lot of it in one sitting. I just wanted one scoop of ice cream, but of course, this place didn't do just one — it was two scoops minimum. Now, this is a dilemma that all people who are trying to diet will have had at some point. Do I ask for one scoop and just pay the price for two? Or do I get two scoops, eating what I can and then just wasting the rest? The tightwad in me went for the first option, which was probably the wrong one. (I forgot my mantra of not being a human dustbin.) I ate all my mango sorbet but left about half of the ice cream, which I made sure I didn't eat by violently schmooshing a napkin into the pot. Sometimes, despite our best efforts, the world is against us and wants us to just get fat. We have to take these measures.
Thursday's fast was great — I was slightly under my 500 calories, which made a change! And then on Friday, it was my five-year-anniversary dinner. Obviously, I was not going to diet that evening, although I did purposefully ignore the cheesecake for dessert. But again, a three-course meal proved to be too much, as we were both quite stuffed. The service was excellent and everything we ate was absolutely delicious (FYI, I had chicken wings, steak with frites and rice pudding brulee). But I did feel bad for my bf — I got a bit tipsy on one glass of pink prosecco and just waffled on at him about what I had been watching on 4od for fucking AGES. Oh yes, and then I got teary telling him about a particularly sad bit in an episode of the sensitively-named Why Don't You Speak English? — what a total tool.
God, I need to stop typing but I am just on the last bit, I promise! I have been fucking exceptional with my exercise this week — four runs and 90% of my Davina DVD — not too shabby! (I couldn't do any more lunges, I just couldn't.) I am in a lot of muscular pain today, but it feels goooooooooood. And it stopped me from buying a two-pack of cream doughnuts last night. They were on offer, but I managed to convince myself that a saving of 42p was not worth the 550 calories they would cost me on my fat arse later down the line.
My sister is coming back from Japan after a year of being away, so that's quite exciting. She has missed salt and vinegar crisps and hummus (I've eaten a shedload of both), so I will be take those round to her this week. I also have an evening invite to a wedding on Friday, but other than that, this week is pretty clear week event-wise. Which means I should see a decent loss by the end of it. I am going to say 1.5lbs… I might be pushing my luck a bit, but I reckon I can do it.
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