Thursday, September 19th
1) What did you consume?
The usual suspects for breakfast/snacks. The pumpkin cookies in my office we're replaced (consumed by normal people with their human right to eat whatever they goddamn please) with candy corn.
I admit that I had 3 morsels of candy corn, and high fructose corn syrup never tasted so good. But I immediately stopped myself and turned to my chicken and baby kale salad that I brought for lunch. It tasted really earthy. I'd prefer it tasted like high fructose corn syrup. Capped the day off with shredded beef and egg and sweet potato and beet chips.
2-3-4) Activity, Lifestyle, Cheating?
Worked out and badly ripped my hand doing toes-to-bar. Drank water. Cheated with candy corn and docked no points because it was only three pieces.
5) How do you feel?
Jesus-It's only day thirteen? This Whole Life Challenge is abso-fucking-lutely ridiculous. All I do is cook and clean and cook and clean. I'm waiting for someone to call "Cinderella!!" to me out of the shadows. I'm a slave to this lifestyle after 12 hour days and there is no time to relax or wind down when I get home. It's not that I have a problem with the food I'm eating. It's fine. It's just that it takes quadruple the time to produce and clean and doesn't taste nearly as good as the store bought stuff. Any Paleo-ite who tries to tell you that it all tastes better is full of shit. And deep down they know it.
Last night, the fiancé–who has a name, and it's Matt–and I were cooking because, what else is new? Anyone who has met me for 5 seconds would not be surprised that I don't have a homemaker's kitchen. So there we were, huddled in our kitchen alcove with minimal counter space, 1 outlet, 2 food processors, ingredients for 2 recipes and 0 dishwashers. We were bumping into each other with every move. Shit was falling off the counters.
When we finally finished cooking by 11:30PM, my kitchen looked like a hurricane had hit it. Cocoa powder sprayed across the counter. Jalapeño seeds on the floor. Dirty dishes everywhere. We began the cleaning process and I seared my freshly ripped hand with every dish washed. Occasionally even yelping in pain. On one such occasion, I dropped a glass baking dish with a loud crash into the sink. Thankfully it didn't break, but I did. Unless the remaining few dishes were going to get cleaned with the pure venom I was spewing, they were staying dirty overnight.
As we're turing in, Matt said, "You already look like you're leaning-out."
"Really? Thanks," I mumbled.
"Does that make it worth it?" he tried.
"Not at all."