The first day of the new life is pretty tedious and I'm really really grumpy. I spent most of yesterday getting the food ready but I still wasn't completely ready.
I started out wrong. I am to make a "tea" with frozen lemon juice, hot water, and a sweetener. I bought the frozen lemon juice and put it in the freezer.
First mistake. You can't put it in the microwave because the bottle will explode, and, well, it was still frozen.
I've never been a big breakfast eater. My usual deal is something from the drive-up at the neighborhood coffee shop. This lifestyle change is going to require a sit-down breakfast with food that is laborious to chew. Since bread is a no-no, the diet requires making special oat bran muffins.
The little muffins will take some getting used to, but I appreciate them in the same way that I appreciate a new pair of Naturalizer loafers. And I'm fairly certain they taste the same.
I facilitate a women's group at our church. My "girls" range between ages sixty-something and eighty-something. After a nearly thirty minute breakfast, I scurried over to the church with my materials and my boom box.
I played some music—being a progressive ELCA Lutheran by theology, I am a Bible-thumping Baptist by music thanks to my paternal grandmother.
One of the songs was "One Day at a Time Sweet Jesus." I think this is going to be my mantra, though I became less spiritual the longer the session went on.
Sometimes we get off topic. We were talking about Jesus gathering his disciples, as the lectionary is now past Epiphany.
Today the girls got off on "cursing" and all I could think about were the bad names I had called that blasted muffin just an hour before. I imagine I'll be thrown out for swearing a two-by-two blob of oat brain and grated apples.
Being with these women who have lived amazing lives always buoys me up, so I was feeling pretty good at the end of our session.
Time to get weighed.
I arrived at the center thinking I could discreetly go inside and get weighed and get outta there. No, take a number for a consultation with a counselor.
There was a morbidly obese woman with a walker sitting near the door, and a crowd of women who were "Me in My Forties" discussing nail polish colors. I sat down next to the morbidly obese woman and smiled.
After a few minutes I was called back and weighed. I know I am a lunatic but every time I go in there, all I can hear is comedian Steve Martin's voice and he is saying, "Looks like we're gonna have to measure you."
I stepped on the intimidating scales, I weighed ten pounds more than I had last Wednesday. How could that be?
Then I looked at the chart. The person who weighed me had reversed two numbers.
The counselor asked me if I had any questions and I asked about olive oil instead of "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter." Her answer was "only in cooking," and she was somewhat disdainful.
This kind of thing makes me crazy, because I don't see what difference it will make. However, this is a path I have chosen for six weeks and I'm going to give it a try and not nitpick it to death. My other way of doing things, with the olive oil, sugar, candy bars, and chips, hasn't worked for me, so I need to be open to it.
Now I'm at home, having tackled my mid-morning snack and that blessed lemon tea (which really isn't that bad). I put a plate of celery to graze on until I make my lunch.
That should only take four or five hours.
Disclaimer: I'm not going to be writing about this diet every day for the rest of my life. Thanks for putting up with this. It's just how I cope with change. It helps me sort out my own thinking.
