I once had Sweet Dreams about someone I though was Irreplaceable. But they turned out to be a Beautiful Liar. Leaving me a Broken Hearted Girl.
I cut the cord and Mr. Maple Syrup is now my non-friend.
I'm quite disappointed, really. I got so close to reaching my self set Ten Day goal. I had the willpower, I had the mental strength. The only thing lacking was the physical well being.
I woke up feeling so weak and low this morning that I contemplated going to hospital. Getting out of bed my legs felt like jelly and as I tentatively walked the few paces from my bedroom to the bathroom, I blacked out. There were sharp pains in my chest and I was having trouble breathing.
I'd had these symptoms throughout the week on more than one occasion. But last night they intensified like never before. I knew something was very wrong and that if I didn't make a smart decision, I would end up in the emergency room. On a drip.
My first bite of solid food consisted of half a banana mixed with Strawberry Danone Activia. I'd like to say it was a wonderful relief to eat again, but that would be a complete lie. The only thing running through my mind was the prospect of putting on weight. Or rather, the fear.
It's incredibly odd to eat two or three bites of something as measly as a yoghurt soaked banana and feel full. I can now identify with the many gastric by-pass patients I've seen in numerous weight loss programmes over the years.
At this point I can't imagine eating a full plate of solid food ever again. I can feel the food fill my stomach the instant I swallow a bit, immediately feeling bloated and heavy.
Ashamedly, I miss the familiar emptiness of the previous week.
It feels like I've eaten a feast today. All I've had is orange juice, pineapple chunks, soup, tea and a pretzel or two. My mam has been by my side every five minutes, checking up on me and offering me liquidized treats. Persistently reminding me to eat slowly and chew everything thoroughly. Something I am not about to contest.
I've never had a bad relationship with food. As long as I can remember I've been a healthy eater, always enjoying tucking in to a nice meal. If I want to lose weight I hit the gym hard, extreme dieting is never something I usually partake in. So to see myself develop the premature signs of an eating disorder, I feel disturbed. All it would take is a young girl infatuated with being slim to try this diet and become obsessed. Letting it spiral out of control.
Despite the fear of weight gain, despite not meeting my Ten Day Goal... Deep down I'm incredibly happy with the decision I've made. I want to be healthy, strong and full of life.
Risking my health just to fit into a smaller jean size? It's the most stupid thing I could ever have done and I would never advise anyone to try this diet.
Nine pounds in Eight days is an achievement of sorts.
I would have felt more fulfilled had I eaten nine chocolate cakes and put on ten.
The first time I ever played a game of bowling, I won. I beat seven other people, amongst them serial bowlers, passionate bowlers and highly competitive bowlers.
It was satisfying getting strike after strike.
Satisfying knocking the pins down one by one.
10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5....
If this diet were a game of bowling, I'd be quite high up on the leader board.
The past two days haven't been tough whatsoever. I had a lovely evening on Sunday that didn't revolve around food, or even avoiding it as such (although I did face a tuna sandwich muncher whose grocery bag contents I helped unpack). I didn't have a single desire for food and the only thing I found myself craving was my beloved juice which would have been my number one handbag priority had I been able to find a plastic bottle to put it in.
Poor Stephen seemed so worried when he came to pick me up, hugging me gently, a flash of concern in his eyes. I think my chirpy mood put his mind at ease a little later in the evening though; he admitted I was in much better form than he had anticipated.
That's the thing with this diet. You just never know how you're going to feel when you wake up. And then again once evening time comes. It brings on unexpected highs and lows and messes with your hormones. Mood swings I have had to embrace. Along with a pale complexion. And extra dark circles under my eyes- without makeup I look like I've survived a three round boxing match.
No matter how good of a day I'm having, there comes a time in the night when extreme fatigue sets in. My muscles start to spasm and cramp and I experience shortness of breath- a little bit as if someone were sitting on my chest.
On top of everything I've started having really vivid, disturbing dreams. And doing that thing where I jump in my sleep. It's mostly because my body is starved of all the minerals and nutrients it so badly needs. I already have quite low iron reserves, so I imagine this regime isn't helping the matter one bit.
Today, Monday, has been good overall. Perhaps the most testing part of the day was a trip to McDonalds with the girls. The minute I entered, the delicious smell engulfed me and sent my senses reeling. I wanted one of everything. Super size.
I don't even like McDonald's food all that much. But today... today it seemed divine.
I've been sipping on my juice regularly the past few days. I keep having to restock on lemons and maple syrup and I'm pretty sure the workers in Superquinn have me on their radar; the security men instructed to pounce and kick me out the next time I wander within twenty meters of the appropriate isles.
I haven't had the opportunity to do the Salt Water Flush the past few days. Not that I'm complaining or anything... I simply feel like I'm being a bad Maple Syrup Diet worshipper. The Salt Water Flush is an important part of the diet/detox plan. For the most part it's just extremely inconvenient and if I weren't so restless/had important things to take care of... maybe I'd put myself on voluntary house arrest and spend some quality time with the loo.
I've decided to go the full hog. A full 10 days without food. An easy decision to make when the scales are slavishly showing smaller and smaller numbers by the day.
I'm another half a kilogram lighter today and I feel elated. I don't want this ever to stop. I can feel the fat literally melting away. Or maybe it's my muscles eating themselves. Either/Or, there's some sorta funny business going on inside my core.
I struck lucky with my first game of bowling. And now I'm about to strike lucky with my first fad diet too.
My lucky number 10.
I've always thought the Bugatti Veyron was a little over rated. Until I gave it a test drive today. I've fallen head over heels in love and Friday's Lada has gone straight to the scrappage yard.
My metaphorical investment has been worth every penny and 24 hours of suffering has brought on 24 hours of endless energy.
I've been buzzing around the place all day.
All systems go. Engines revving at top speed.
The domestic goddess in me was reawakened today. I happily hoovered the entire house humming a pretty little tune. My cleaning frenzy could have continued long into the day, except my mam came home for lunch and coaxed me into putting the feather duster away.
A Kim and Aggie wannabe, I was a little disgusted and retreated to the garden to plan my next move.
I can't remember the last time I lazed about in the sunshine doing nothing at all. Listening to cheesy pop music and sipping on my Maple Syrup Cocktail, I closed my eyes and let the sunshine kiss me.
When Ricky Martin's "She Bangs" popped up on shuffle, I got the urge to get up and dance. Jennifer Lopez's "Let's Get Loud" had a similar effect and by the time Enrique came on I was jumping about the garden shouting "Ariba, Ariba." There's always been a bit of a latina in me, or maybe it's all the cayenne pepper making me feel fiery. All I know is I love latino beats and whenever I pass by the gypsy band that plays on Grafton Street, I feel like putting my shopping bags down and doing the samba.
"Are you ok? Maybe you'll start to eat," my mam appeared in the garden, looking weary as I pranced about.
"No I'm good, I have lots of energy," I reassured her.
She then packed up and went to work. And I ran upstairs to tackle some laundry. (She'll never know.)
The rest of my evening carried on in much the same way. My mind felt clear and my thinking sharp and there was some good progression on my college work.
The only time I felt a little sad was when I realized this diet is turning me into a social outcast. While everyone is out parting, letting off steam from a hard weeks work, I'm sitting inside, skinny and lonely and trying to become the next Einstein.
It's a selfish act, starving yourself. I don't know how people that have eating disorders get by. It's not a fun lifestyle, running away from food. Eating with people is a sort of bonding exercise and not joining in feels like you're slowly but surely being pushed aside.
I've had zero cravings today and I've forgotten what food tastes like. In fact, to be honest, I find the idea of eating again a little terrifying. I fear I might be getting a little too attached. And a lot of that I put down to the weighing scales, which today told me I've lost another kilogram. That's three altogether now, around seven pounds.
I was saddened this morning to realize I was out of sea salt and had to pass on the Salt Water Flush. But on the upside I've had six pints of the juice. I've finally reached the recommended quota!
Surely, I deserve a little something for that.
My parents obviously thought so and presented me with a little "surprise" on their return from the supermarket: a massive tub of sea salt.
I was overjoyed.
In fact, I best be off and continue with my happy dance.
I might even fist pump.
One, Two, Thr- What if Harry thinks my work is terrible?, Four, Five, Si- Must remember my juice in the morning, Seven, Eig- ... wonder where I can find a Jersey Shore duck phone, Nine, Te- QUACK, Eleven, Twelv- ...Marmite, Thirteen Fourte- I don't even like Marmite, Fifteen, Sixte- I hope I sent that letter to the right place, Seventeen, Eig- 4 cm left indent, one and a half spacing, Nineteen, Twe- Oh god, remember Gina G? .......
Nine hundred and thirty eig- Oooh-ah- just a little bit.... One thousand five hundred and seventy thre-Oooh-ah- just a little bit more.....
A tornado of thoughts whirled through my mind last night. And the deeper I buried myself into the safety of my bed sheets, the worse it got. There was no hiding from it. I had to brace the elements and with just three hours sleep, Friday morning greeted me.
Four thirty am in itself is not a pleasant hour. Add a grumpy, starved headachey girl into the mix and I think you get the picture. I had to kung foo fight myself out of bed and into the shower. And then again down the stairs and into the kitchen where I drank a mug of peppermint tea.
I closed my eyes as I sipped my minty brew and imaged a table laiden with croissants, pain-au-chocolat, apricot danishes, cinnamon twists, coffee slices and scones; calorie laden, fatty and carbolicious. Luckily in my house we rarely have such indulgent treats or I would have emptied the presses and sat in the middle of the kitchen floor scoffing myself into a state of delirium.
Can you imagine how torn I felt in work experience then, when I went to the fridge to find it full of blueberry and chocolate muffins, strawberry danishes and cartons of apple and orange juice. My already achey, breaky, broken heart squeezed another tear out. I would have thought it to be as dry as the Sahara at this stage, but it appears that when it comes to food, it's extremely compassionate.
"Tell her to eat, she's not eating," Dave proclaimed.
"Don't mind him, I'm doing a journalistic experiment," I explained for the millionth time.
I slurred my way through the morning, my brain feeling like mush and unable to think. Ironically, working on a breakfast show, I was not much different to Kerry Katona in that infamous GMTV interview. A few people were questioning my sanity too.
I threw myself into bed the minute I got home and only woke up when I was startled out of my deep sleep by the doorbell. I stumbled down the stairs to open the door, dazed and confused and blinded by the brightness of daylight.
"The face on you!" said my little brother, mimicking me.
He looked like a diseased mole rat.
I tried hard to concentrate on my dissertation for the rest of the evening. Progression proved an unattainable dream. I gave up and watched an episode of Glee and contemplated recording my own version of Cat Steven's "Wild World."
"Ooooh baby, baby, it's a wild world
It's hard to get by on this diet, with a smile
Ooooh, baby, baby, it's a wild world,
And I'll always remember feeling deprived"
The scales refused to budge again this morning so I turned to drink. Five pints of juice went down and now I'm hungover and my head hurts.
"Ooooh baby, baby, it's a wild world..."
For years I lived a lie thinking I once had an encounter with a bear in a dense forest in Eastern Europe. One night when I was feeling inquisitive I asked my mam if this had ever happened. It turns out it was a wild boar.
Needless to say, when another slightly odd memory sprung up from the dark corners of my mind this afternoon, I was weary asking my mam to validate it for me. Having seen the wreck I was yesterday, she's more than a little worried about my state of well being and I knew that if I asked something silly, she'd shove a head of brocolli in my mouth faster than you can say "delirious much?"
I really have to start timing my entrances beyond my bedroom door better. I waltzed unannounced into the kitchen this afternoon to come across a sight that made my heart weep.
Think of the biggest bowl of steaming hot pasta you can imagine. Topped with gooey grated cheddar cheese.
"Macaroni and cheese" my little brother slyly announced before grabbing the bowl and moving as far away from me as possible. He must have seen it in my eyes; the big flashing sign saying "WANT! WANT! DANGER! DANGER!"
You know those Lynx ad's where the girls throw themselves at the freshly scented typically good looking male on the street (read: model)? Well to me this bowl of pasta was the equivalent of that dishy male and I very nearly had my own Bam Chicka Wah Wah moment. Sad as that is to say.
I sulkily prepared another pint of juice as I inhaled the flavours of the kitchen. In the midst of relishing the lovely aromas, I remembered: macaroane cu zahar.
"Mam, did I ever eat... sugary pasta?" I tentatively asked, getting ready to make a run for it.
It turns out I had and I breathed a heavy sigh of relief.
Macaroane cu zahar is pasta prepared with butter, vanilla flavouring and sugar. The last time I ate it was when I was four years old, a treat prepared by my grandmother who was a minder in my creche. Even back then I was fussy with milky dishes which were a favourite on the lunchtime menu and being her little princess, granny always made me something to my (voluntary) lactose intolerant tastes.
The rest of my day I've spent reminiscing of all the amazing food she used to cook for me. The time we happily ate pampushki cu usturoi (chunks of home made bread dipped in a garlic and butter sauce) by candle light as a storm raged outside, patlagele vinete murate (stuffed pickled aubergines) after a day of playing in the snow with my sania (sleigh), placinte cu bostan, varza or brinza (a pastry filled with different flavours like pumpkin, cabbage or cheese)... she was best cook in the world. And if she knew of this diet plan I've adopted, she'd shake her head at me and say "Dianuta, Dianuta, Dianuta...."
Surprisingly I'm feeling wonderful today. Compared to yesterday I'm on cloud 9 (albeit, it's a little ashy). I had the best nights sleep in a long while and I woke this morning feel rejuvenated. My headache is gone, there is no sign of dizziness or weakness. No restlessness and the hunger pangs are more or less non existent.
I've befriended my syrupy juice friend. He makes me happy. The peppery kick re-awakens my senses with every sip and the sugary syrup has me bouncing off the walls (and falling into them, I am the clumsiest person ever). Today I've had four pints. Slowly but surely upping the ante.
The Salt Water Flush this morning worked a treat. I spent some quality time with the toilet and now know the package descriptions on pretty much every product in the bathroom. Never mind journalism, maybe I can get myself a job in Boots.
My tummy has been a gurgling mess all day. The instant I finished my salty mix, like a giant snake, a dull pain worked its way around my abdomen and I had to lay down.
On an extremely positive note- I've lost another kg.
That's five pounds in four days.
I've been trying to work how many pampushki that makes....
Imagine waking up being serenaded by your very own private percussion band. Today I was privileged to experience just this.
It went as follows-
thump, thump thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, THUMP THUMP THUMP, thump, thump, THUMP (x infinity + 1)
It was by no means a pretty tune. And despite being on loop for an entire day, it didn't grow on me. That's headaches for you. Or maybe it was a migraine. I never know how to tell the difference. I merely profess to having one or the other depending on how much pity I'm looking for.
I would say my diet personality for Day One could be compared to that of a fire breather. I was feeling risky, brave, adventurous and yet extremely cautious. Day Two I was more of a mad scientist; feeling experimental and inquisitive and at times frustrated by my formula. Day Three I was plain and simply emo.
Dizziness, lack of concentration, restlessness, nausea, thumping headaches and weakness. A Jack-in-the-Box of emotions that startled me out of my sleep this morning and refused to bugger off for the entire day.
I was expecting day three to be difficult. But I didn't think it would be quite this bad.
I contemplated giving up a number of times throughout the morning. In particular when I made my first batch of the Maple Syrup drink and some lemon juice squirted me in the eye. And again later in the afternoon when I discovered I had ran out of my stash of lemons (or maybe I just couldn't see clearly, I was temporarily blinded in one eye after all).
I took it as a sign. I'm a true believer in signs.
The mother of all signs was my weight loss. Or lack of. The scales remained the same. No, I lie. They were .1 of a kg higher than the previous day. My heart sank when the numbers finally settled and dropped the bomb. I had never felt so disheartened.
I'm feeling crap on the inside, I'm not looking any better on the outside. So what's the point, I asked myself. The point is I don't want to give up and admit to being a quitter. I've become too attached to this now and have to see it through.
Understandably, I passed on the Salt Water Flush today. I'm miserable enough as it is. And spending quality time with Mr. Loo isn't going to make things any better. Besides, I had to go to our french magazine launch and didn't want to risk spending the entire evening in the toilets. Although being the European Parliament offices, I'd image them to be quite nice. Or as nice as public toilets go. I have a horrible relationship with them and therefore cut all interaction unless extremely necessary.
The bus journey home from town this evening was torturous. With blurry vision, jelly legs and feeling faint I gladly got into my dad's car at my home stop.
My family and friends are being extremely kind to me. I'm not looking for pity, after all, I'm choosing to subject myself to this. But it is nice to have them smother me. They've been good on the food front too, being extra careful not to eat in front of me (apart from one apple munching rascal) or stock up on all the things I love most.
My cravings today have subsided. I'm simply hungry. But not so bad that I can't resist temptation. The true test was being in the newsagents earlier with an assortment of sweets, chocolates and crisps at my fingertips. I didn't even contemplate buying any. I just paid for my packs of chewing gum and walked out. Pride intact.
So aside from choosing to keep climbing the Mount Everest of diets, the second most important decision of the day faces me now. I have two mugs of tea in front of me.
To Dandelion or to Peppermint? That is the question.
Isn't it so pretty? The zingy citrus colour of the lemon complemented by the vibrant green of the celery leaf?
I've just had an epiphany. I've found my true calling in life. Cocktail making with a difference. This one won't give you a sugar rush, it doesn't taste half as good as a Mojito or a Cosmopolitan, it won't make you tipsy and it sure won't give you that extra confidence boost to go wild on the dancefloor. But at least it'll leave you squeaky clean on the inside and skinny, so damn skinny.
What more could a girl ask for?
I've just had my fourth pint for the day. And I feel no guilt for it.
I feel no pleasure either mind you.
But it did taste a lot nicer than drinking it out of a mug or plastic bottle.
I got a bit carried away with the whole cocktail making thing and squeezed a little lemon pulp into the juice (Stanley Burroughs*, I'm sorry.) It appears I might be breaking the rules. I'm a cheat. A fraud. I deserve to get fat. (I've also been chewing on sugarfree gum all day. Double penalty points.)
Apart from releasing my frustration, angst and creative juices in the kitchen, I haven't been having too bad of a day. I've now survived almost two days on a liquid diet. Chuck Noland, Mr. Castaway, you've got nothing on me.
The hunger pains are still here and I'm feeling a little weak but I'm still rearing to go. I feel invincible, me. Although I have a feeling my happy diet bubble might be burst tomorrow when I attend a magazine launch and everyone around me is sipping on much tastier liquids and munching on solid food.
For those of you who can't get enough of my toilet escapades, you'll revel in knowing the Sea Salt Flush kicked in this afternoon. The less said about that, the better. But I feel good that my body is finally praising me for drinking all that disgusting water. Even if I can't afford to be more than a few metres away from a bathroom.
Being on this diet is making me realise just how much food is consumed on a daily basis. And a lot of it unnecessarily. Our bodies can survive with far less than what we're feeding them with. Or at least without the junk. I say this now in a moment of elation but when my hair starts falling out by the end of the week, my joints start popping out of their sockets and my skin looks grey and drab and flaky, I might have to eat my words and take them back.
Although having had an ice-cream craving frenzy earlier this morning, the food I'm most longing for is healthy. Brocolli and salmon, a nice fresh salad, some nuts, pure orange juice, hummous, fresh fruit... the only time I crave the bad stuff is when I see it presented so delicately and sex-ed up in an ad on TV. So I figure this tells me something important, our bodies only need the healthy stuff, the junk and all the treats is just us being a little greedy and doing an Oliver, "Pleaser sir, can I have some more?".
And why wouldn't you want more? It tastes so damn good.
P.S. The universe was paying me back for my greedy pulp inclusive ways. As I sipped away on my juice the thin straws got clogged up with small pieces of pulp making me turn blue in the face as I sucked on my straw, oblivious to the obstruction. *Sigh*
* Mr. Burroughs is the creator of this diet which is also known as the Master Cleanse.
Strawberry, Caramel, Vanilla, Banana, Chocolate Fudge, Cookie Dough, Rum and Raisin, Mint, Pistachio, Cherry, Chocolate Chip, Raspberry, Marshmallow, Coconut, Walnut, Cookies and Cream...
I want to drown in a sea of ice-cream.
I was watching TV this morning whilst grounding down my sea salt when a HB advertisement popped on the screen. I literally stopped in my tracks and just stared for a solid minute.
The ice-cream looked so thick and creamy and I could just imagine the sweet, cold sensation as it melted in my mouth.
Of course, my fantasies remained just that and instead, another litre of sea salt water awaited me. I heated it up a little this time and took my time gulping it down every few minutes or so. I lied to myself that it was chicken stock I was having the pleasure of gagging on, but I think that just made it worse. Images of headless chickens with juice spurting out of them ran through my head. Perhaps tomorrow I'll adopt a new tactic.
It's been just over half an hour and I can still feel it slushing around my stomach. I'm hoping today is the day the flushing starts because it's really torturous putting myself through this in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, my body will decide to kick out the nasty salty buggers along with half of my intestines.
I've invested in some laxative tea- it's recommended, but I really don't want to turn to it just yet. I don't want to spend more time on the toilet. I'm there enough as it is with all this peeing.
On the plus side, I've lost 1 kg (that's 2 pounds!)
*cue applause*
I feel quite proud really. And slim. I feel slimmer already. Which is ridiculous. It's a weird concept this. Sitting on my butt with the weight just dropping off me by the hour. I'm already envisioning myself at the end of the week. A walking skeleton, a lollipop head, a twig.
I woke up with a thumping headache this morning and just a small hunger pang. Taking everything into consideration, right now I'm feeling pretty good (despite the gurgling mess that are my intestines...).
I'll report back later.
For now,
CitrusCrash out.
My family are cruel.
How can they sit downstairs frying and munching on delicious crispy smoky bacon when they know I'm on a starvation stint? My senses are reeling. I'm contemplating buying a gas mask or spraying air freshener up my nose. Or maybe a clothes peg will have the desired effect.
It's deliciously intoxifying and I don't think I'm strong enough to handle it. I've been thinking about food all day. I feel empty and the hunger pangs are sending little signals to my brain fooling it into thinking that it's "dinner time soon."
Oh brain, how wrong could you be?
Dinner time is a long time waiting for now.
I worked up the courage to drink my sea salt water mixture earlier this morning. Glugging it down, I questioned my sanity as the vile liquid made it's way down my throat and into my stomach. I felt it in my tummy immediately, an uncomfortable dull pain that can't be compared to anything else.
I'm dreading going through the same procedure tomorrow in particular as it was all done in vain today. It's supposed to start a cleanse and have you running to the bathroom. The only place I've been running to and fro is the kitchen where I've been staring miserably at all the food I can't eat.
Don't get me wrong; this whole liquid diet thing isn't all that bad. I'm not starving mad (yet). It's just knowing that I can't eat all the food I enjoy so much that makes me want it twice as bad. It's a forbidden fruit scenario. Literally.
Grinding down my sea salt and making the maple syrup mix is quite a theraputic experience. I enjoy this little routine and for some odd reason, feel like I'm achieving something with each fresh new pint of the juice.
I thought the juice was pleasant tasting on my trial run last night but today I can just about stomach it. And the pepper. Oh the pepper. There's an inferno in my mouth and a fire burning in the pit of my stomach.
Surprisingly I'm feeling quite full of energy this afternoon. I've been working non stop at my dissertation. Maybe this will bring me all the way to a 1.1...
What's that you say? Wishful thinking?
Nagh. Just calorie deprived.
Organic Lemons, Cayenne Pepper, Cleansing Tea, Pure Maple Syrup and Sea Salt. A wicked feast for the brave.
It's not the most appetizing spread I've ever seen laid out on a table, but these are the components of my Maple Syrup Diet Kit.
For the next week or so, I am subjecting myself to a testing detox diet. All for the love of my art- journalism.
Today is Day One and already I've concocted my first syrupy pint for the day but I have yet to take a sip. The Cleansing Dandelion tea I had first thing this morning has surprisingly cured me of my cravings for my usual breakfast of porridge mixed with a banana and strawberry yoghurt.
I'm the kind of person who wakes up looking forward to eating breakfast, so I was expecting it to be a lot more difficult. I have my Salt Water Flush mixture by my side, ready to gulp down as soon as I can find the courage. My worst nightmare is drowning so forcing myself to drink a litre of sea salted water is not going to go down too well.
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