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  • #16
    Day seven morning weight: 205.4

    Flourless chile relleno experiement yesterday--delicious. Something Id like to make on perhaps a weekly basis. I remember when I first made chile rellenos. Took me forever and I thought it impossibily difficult. Now it doesnt seem like a big deal. Not sure whether the crushed walnuts I used to make the egg stick worked or not but I liked the flavor they added and there was enough egg mixture.

    Partner commented yesterday that Im losing a lot of weight, and I feel like it too.

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    • #17
      Weight at end of first week: 205.6...lost 6 pounds.

      Attempted chile rellenos again today. Successfully whipped up the egg white mixture by hand but let the chiles burn too much so that they tore when I tried to peel them. My partner Jose says they had a good flavor though.

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      • #18
        Weight: 205.0 ...my weight loss seems to have stalled slightly but Im still hitting a new low so Im feeling ok about it.

        Last night I was in a real bad mood and really wanted the sweet breads Jose was eating. But I said no, and Im glad I did. Today I ate chicken a la veracruzana in a restaurant. Think it was primal but didnt ask to many questions about the sauce. Avoided the potatoes. Dinner tonight will be scrambled eggs with chorizo.

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        • #19
          sigh

          Wish I could eat chorizo but I can't. Chorizo and eggs is the bomb - I'm jealous!
          Durp.

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          • #20
            Last night I blew off my diet for a bowl of honey ice cream, an experience at once delicious and disheartening. I really thought that this time I’d march toward the new thin me in gloriously uninterrupted style. I’d sail through low-carb meal after low-carb meal with unwavering resolve, mercilessly crushing my cravings. I’d be a dieting machine, making all decisions strictly in accordance with my written plan, totally indifferent to the emotional pull of forbidden foods. Opps.

            I blame my feeling nature for bungling things up. The slightest stirring of anxiety and I’m thrown off-kilter. My inner bully just won’t stop battering my inner child, and eventually it gets to the point where something simply must be done about it–something that usually involves a trip to the refrigerator.

            I always imagine I’ll be happy when I’m buff and beautiful, when (surprise!) it turns out that happiness must come first. Trying to diet depressed is like driving drunk: CRASH!

            So now what. I’m languishing here at starbucks with a pounding honey ice-cream hangover, horrorstruck by bleak visions of my future fatness. Am I destined to morph into an ugly old man: haggard, hefty, unloved?

            Of course I’ll try again. I always do. Failure is fast forgotten, a mere blip along the way. I’ll rush headlong into another ill-conceived plan, tragically underestimating the power of emotion to jerk me off-course, believing once again that this time I’ll be some sort of mutant paleo superstar.

            What if instead I pause here a moment to contemplete the nature of last night’s caloric calamity. Can I approach myself with less contempt, and more curiosity? Let me linger here a spell in this strange place, this no-man’s-land between strict compliance to the rules and the crazed breaking of them. I have much to learn.

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