How Many Calories Can I Buy For a Pound?

This morning I woke up to find a ¾ eaten package of Fox cream malted milk biscuits in my bathroom sink.

Don't ask. (You probably don't need to.)

I binged. And honestly, I can't remember on what – something that's never happened to me before.

I knew I had £40 in my pocket last night, and a quick accounting suggests I spent about £3 on a binge. You'd think there's only so much damage one could do with £3 (one of my favourite healthy snacks in the world – a Nana's oatmeal cookie, 263 calories of naturally sweetened yumminess -- costs £2.10 a pop, and a mini bar of Montezuma dark chocolate is about £1), but crappy food is cheap. That ¾-eaten packet of biscuits was a mere 89 pence. I could literally consume thousands of (empty) calories for less than a pound.

My mistake last night – and one I have frequently made – is to do a double workout before a big night out. I'll do an hour of weights and then an hour of cardio (I aim to do this once a week, but it doesn't always happen), thinking I've burned off a good bit of the night out before I've even taken my first bite. But as my former-gymnast, rugby-playing gym manager told me tonight: "You've used up all your glycogen, your body is exhausted, and that first drink hits you so hard." (In England apparently this isn't such a bad thing – this being the land of "eating is cheating.")

And in fact that first drink smacked me straight into loopy land. I went with a couple of friends to a pop-up supper club in Camden, and from the first sip of the first cocktail I knew – just knew – that it wasn't going to be pretty. But in the moment, of course, I didn't care. I just wanted to escape the ocean of doubt and fear in which I seem lately to be swimming.

I dragged myself out of bed just before noon (how on earth am I going to work in an office?) and somehow managed to file my daily story in time for my 2 pm deadline. I took a half hour nap, then cranked out the other story I had due today (for US News magazine), ran a couple of errands, and headed to Frame, a Shoreditch gym where I have some credit to use up. Tonight was cardio barre, with the model Ben Grimes DJ'ing a live set. (Her set was fun, the class was less so – I didn't even work up a sweat, and I'm not sure anything got much firming besides my resolve never to take the class again. Not that that would be hard as I'm busy next Friday night and I'll be in the US – eek – the following Friday.)

With T minus 12 days until I get on a plane for New York, I can't afford another day where I feel as crummy as today (and nor can I afford to keep bingeing). Goal for next week's leaving drinks: Three drinks tops, or maybe I'll not have any at all (the latter I actually find quite easy – easier than any other limits). If I'm emotional when I start drinking I can really be a mess, and I'd prefer not to say goodbye to London in that state.

***

I spent a lot of time today freaking out about how much weight I've gained (won't get on scale) and whether any of my clothes will fit by the time I get to New York. (The bingeing/weight gain also has made it spectacularly difficult to pack, because I don't want to try things on to decide whether to get rid of them.)

But this evening I realized that there were at least two instances in the past week where I very, very narrowly avoided a binge: One was in New York, and the other was on Tuesday, during and after my last army job. And in the immortal words of Meatloaf, two out of three ain't bad.