Image courtesy of o5com via Flickr
Well, that didn’t take long, did it?
And no, I don’t mean my blogging, though I realize going more than a month between posts doesn’t inspire much confidence that I’ll have a whole lot of follow-through on that, either.
I’m talking about fasting. Shortly after my boastful post about how I’d been following the Fast Diet for something like three weeks, my interest in denying myself food, even just twice a week, began to wane. Suddenly, my devoted practice of fasting fell to just once a week, and then once every two weeks and then…
Image courtesy of Maya83 via Flickr
Ted often accuses me of picking something up on a whim—be it a new hobby or a new coffee table—and abandoning it just as quickly. Well, will he have to eat crow now, because I have entered my third week of fasting and in fact am finishing up yet another fast day as I write this! I mean, someone will have to eat it, because I can’t. I’m fasting.
For those who did not read my post the other week about this, let me fill you in:
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I told my brother that I fasted yesterday—or, more accurately, that I severely limited my eating to about 500 calories’ worth of food.
Image courtesy of Jean Fortunet via Wikimedia Commons
His response: “Why, were you sick? You couldn’t keep anything down?”
Which might demonstrate how much food means to my family. Or maybe it demonstrates how familiar my brother is with how much food means to me…
In point of fact, I was not sick yesterday. I actually did not eat on purpose.
That’s right. I chose to not eat. (Technically it’s more accurate to say, “I chose to eat only 500 calories,” but that doesn’t sound nearly as dramatic as “I chose to not eat.”)
Ted has warned me before that food isn’t love, but I’m pretty sure he’s wrong. What can the buttery goodness of a flaky croissant or the salty creaminess of mashed potatoes be if they aren’t the ultimate embodiment of love? Or, if not love, then comfort. And last Thursday night, I was seeking comfort.
Photo from coachrobertsimmons.com
Nothing had gone particularly wrong that day. Work had been fine, if a tad dull. I had gotten into a huge fight with Boof in the morning about consideration (or someone’s lack thereof) and then a big fight with Ted just after that about good parenting (or someone’s lack thereof), but that bitterness had long worn off. I was hungry, because Ted and I had been counting calories to shave off some of our holiday weight, but the workday was over and I was looking forward to dinner. Continue Reading