Fourteen Days

Considering what I ate this weekend – fried food, cheese, carrot cake et al – it’s strange that I’m calling it a success.

I came close multiple times, including yesterday, sitting at Veselka with a friend, ready to sneak off to the “bathroom” (read: the corner shop) to take the edge off. But I didn’t. And after the pierogies (fried), the blintzes with raspberry sauce, the sour cream, and the chocolate-dipped rugelach, I briefly debated carrying on eating. But I didn’t. Not a single thing.

Today, my friend we’ll call Cat yesterday had suggested we drink the prosecco a friend had given her. Some nice, lazy daytime drinking. But I chose not to. Daytime drinking usually leads to daytime grazing, which leads to bingeing. And I already don’t feel like myself these days – I don’t need to add a hangover and post-binge on top of it. I wavered a bit about midday, thinking how nice it would be for the day to disappear in a pleasant haze. And then I realized it wouldn’t, because Cat – an old friend from college who’s recently resurfaced -- isn’t that kind of friend (a story for another time). Just so there was no going back, I booked myself into a 4.30 class at the sort of nutcase (and expensive) New York gym where 95 percent of the women have the sort of bodies where they work out in just sports bras (eek, I know).

I would really, really like to lose some weight. But for right now, I’ll have to be happy just not to binge.

Fourteen days.