So I've lost a little over nine pounds at this point, which is fine, however; I had a minor freakout the last time I got on the scale. I looked down at the number and thought I gained two pounds, which sent me into a downward spiral of "you gotta' be shitting me." After a frantic piss, I got back on the scale, sans every bit of clothing imaginable (but fresh out of the shower, powdered and lotioned up (yeah, I said "lotioned")) and looked down. Only a few ounces. This was after a frantic morning of finding replacement batteries for my scale, which suddenly died between weeks of weighing in.
Anyhoo, I entered the new weight into MyFitnessPal and discovered that I lost a little over three pounds, which brought my grand total weight loss to almost-10 pounds shed over the course of two weeks. A little less than an average of five pounds per week. I can live with that. Totally doable, considering the almost-complete lack of exercise.
I say "almost-complete lack of exercise" because the only exercise I've been getting has been in the bedroom. I will spare you the gory details (ladies …), but sex totally counts for a calorie-burning exercise. I remember using MyFitnessPal back in the day and it was listed among cardio exercises, however; it has since been removed. I decided to enter it myself, with a simple 90-calorie burn for an hour. In reality, it's probably more than that, because I'm a god-damn championship-level lovemaker, however; I'll be conservative.
Over the past week, some bizarre stuff has happened. I went out to lunch with a friend of mine I haven't seen in a while. At my favorite bar, I devoured one of their epic sandwiches, a tiny cup of potato salad, a snack-sized bag of potato chips, a pickle spear and a sizable bowl of chili. The entire meal was around 2,000 calories. Thankfully, I get over 3,000 a day, because I'm a grown-ass man and not a tiny woman.
So I get in my car, after having a couple beers, a bunch of waters and all that food, and as my buddy drives off, I cough a bit (the remnants of a cold I was fighting) and puke on my favorite pea coat. I laugh, realizing I haven't thrown up in a few years, and continue my day, washing the jacket (then deciding to dry-clean it, as well) and laugh the entire thing off. Later, I would realize that I really can't consume that many calories in one sitting. My body, having worked hard for two weeks, is really not able to handle the strain of consuming food at that pace anymore. I'm glad this was the case, really. It made me re-think some shit.
The strangest thing that's happened, however; has been my bizarre new taste for pickles. I crave them. Constant craving. Insert a K. D. Lang joke here. Last night, I steamrolled almost an entire jar of pickle chips or whatever they're called. I think it's because they're crazy low-calorie and pickles just generally rule. Nevertheless, more pickles are required.
Also last night, I went over my allotted daily caloric intake. I'm not happy about that. I also ate like shit, for the most part. I'm not happy about that, either. I'm fully expecting to see an uptick in weight on Sunday morning, but we'll see. If I commit seppuku and this blog doesn't continue, you'll know why.
UPDATE: My girlfriend complained over the lack of me referencing her in this. I have a gifrlfriend. I'm not a simple man-whore, throwing his seed around town without abandon!