Five Pounds

This morning I woke up, freaked out when the scale showed I’d gained five pounds, and proceeded to spend the day systematically dismantling the story of a model claiming an affair with a certain basketball star married to an actress.

I took screen grabs of photos she claimed were her and e-mailed them to various fashion houses and asked them to identify the model. (To make life extra fun, one of the places I had to call was the Fig's old employer.) I checked her itinerary from going to visit him – did those flights exist on that airline on that date? (For security reasons, obviously airline won’t confirm whether she was aboard.) Has anyone ever met this woman? I would almost enjoy this sort of detective work were it not in service of giving more publicity to a delusional woman who clearly wants only that. (And, as I pointed out to my boss, I can spend the next week identifying every model in every photo she claims is her and that still will not prove definitively whether she did or did not shag this basketball player. It makes it less credible, sure. But it does not prove it definitively.)

Oh right. This is a weight-loss blog (sometimes). I was supposed to be talking about the five pounds.

I binged again Sunday, despite my best efforts.

I got up and went to Bikram yoga. Then I had lunch with friends, and made perfectly healthy choices. Then we had pudding, which I’d planned to enjoy. I ordered bread and butter pudding, which I love. Except this one was tasteless, and yet, I couldn’t stop myself from finishing it. I kept taking more bites, as if hoping the accumulation of bites would equal some sort of actual flavor. Then I wanted doughnuts, which I purchased on the way to a friend’s Christmas open house that I absolutely did not want to attend, but had to. (It’s Friend Bearing Chocolate’s – so a bit of an obligation, especially because she’s moving abroad next month.)

I’d feared drinking too much at Friend Bearing Chocolate’s out of boredom – I do like her, but it’s always the same 10 people at her parties, and… how can I put this politely? I can’t: They’re boring. And I say this as someone whose job it is to make some of the most boring people (celebrities) interesting. So it’s not through lack of trying on my part.

To combat the drinking-too-much problem, I’d booked a Power Plate session for 8 a.m. Monday morning. That would give me an excuse not to stay over (FBC had invited me since her flat is as far south in London as you can be and still have a London postcode) and a point at which I’d have to quit drinking lest feel beyond wretched. So… I only had about two glasses of red wine, but I ate. I ate cheese. I ate bread. I ate loads and loads of both. I ate half a seriously buttery lemon tart (and not an individual lemon tart, either). And on the way home I had cookies and dark chocolate, although I managed to ditch half of a cookie and a bit of the chocolate. I'm not sure where this binge came from, honestly.

I felt beyond wretched yesterday morning. And nearly all day.

Then I had dinner out with friends, which I didn’t want to cancel because yesterday was the fourth anniversary of my mother’s death. They didn’t know that, of course, but I knew it, and I didn’t want to sit home staring at the memorial candle I lit and thinking about it and remembering that day – and the weeks that preceded it – in minute detail. (Usually I try not to eat out in the day immediately following a binge so I can eat as cleanly as possible.)

My jeans felt uncomfortably tight yesterday. It’s true I’ve been spoiled by loads of people complimenting me lately, but I couldn’t help noting that one of the friends – whom I haven’t seen for at least six weeks – didn’t say anything (and she has before). I feared I wouldn’t be able to button my coat. It wasn’t a nice feeling.

All day today, I’ve felt the weight around my waist -- like an inner tube, like an ugly belt, like a doughnut of fat. I never knew five pounds could feel so heavy.

I have a little more than three days before I head up to Scotland for Christmas. Then three days to do a little damage control before New Year’s and the first week of January, when I have a friend visiting (which will certainly throw off my schedule). And I’m trying not to freak out and eat now because in mid-January I have to go to the Paris couture shows. Sigh.

One day at a time, right? I got up and ran today, and at lunch I went to yoga and taped the class, the last class of 2007. Food has been fine. I’m trying to remember that I’ll feel a lot better going into Christmas if I can do the healthy thing at least until I arrive in Scotland. That’s the goal, anyway.