Weeks ago my very own yummy mummy mentioned a new diet she'd seen on some documentary focusing on some guy who was as youthful, energetic and healthy as most twenty year olds while he was well into his seventies. She mentioned that she could eat whatever she wanted 5 days out of 7, fasting and limiting intake to only 400 calories the other two. She mentioned she'd lost a dress size and that people were mentioning she looked incredible. She mentioned she's a convert and I quickly read up on the matter.
Apparently within weeks your body boots your metabolism up the bottom, your blood pressure and sugars will even out and the long term health benefits are pretty exciting. Forget fad diets (I've tried and failed them all FYI) and forget week long celery binges, there's some science behind the story. I promise. I think.
And with a cold weather paunch - and a scrambled eggs and sausage habit at around 600 calories a pop - I decided to have a go myself and started planning. Mondays, well they will always require bacon and a slice of toast to get started, while Tuesday and Wednesdays are normally so busy I was sure I wouldn't miss three or four, sometimes five, solid meals.
Tuesday. I woke up bounded into work with a peppermint tea (0 calories) produced a fruit bar (50 calories) and got started on the daily grind. Counting calories. On everything. Lunchtime was 3/4 of a tin of Weight Watchers Soup (approx 50 calories) and a rice cake (30 calories). Now let me tell you something about rice cakes, the reason they are so low calorie is because after two bites you find yourself physically unable to finish any more. The perfect diet food, unless styrofoam is your kind of thing of course. The day dragged, I was feeling tired and sloped home cold and weary only to fall into bed before 9pm, shovelling a quick mouthful of low fat yoghurt (39 calories) and a swig of diet lemonade (0.5 calories) in the process.
Wednesday. Wednesday was a difficult one. I woke up with zero energy, like, getting out of bed felt like a slow motion sequence with the room spinning round me. I had a new spot and pulling my tights on took nearly an entire episode of Everybody Loves Raymond. I wasn't hungry. Not one bit. Not at all.
Fuck me I was spacey that day though.
I'll give you a quick insight into the creative agency where I work, it's a wide open space with quirky hanging lights, wide white walls, coloured chairs and a giant orange mural of Internet memes that meets you straight out of the lift. It's like I could feel my pupils widen with every glance, I was floating through the corridor and all I had in my head was that song from The Snowman, "we're walking in the air..."
I consumed another yoghurt (39 calories) another fruit bar (50 calories) and a whole bunch of celery dipped in a mini pot of extra light Philly cheese (40 calories). Every time I ate I realised that I could quite easily go without, I was tired, not starving. It's a strange realisation. Powerful.
I floated to the tube, expecting to wake up still back at my desk at any moment. And then I saw him, I nearly stopped in my tracks. Golden and hot, I breathed in to enjoy every single, lasting ounce of his smell. I had to fight wrestling him to the ground, just for a nibble. A taste. Honestly, it was the strongest effect a middle aged man with a bag of chips has ever had on me. I drifted home, warmed up some half arsed attempt at low calorie soup and made some half arsed attempt eating it. Zombie like I took myself to bed and awoke this morning, with next to no energy yet again, a slightly less bloated tummy and only one thing on my mind: