The Fat Bloke Diaries

 

Episode Ten – The Dreaded Munchies

 

I’ve started writing a food diary. It’s a simple idea; I just write down anything and everything that I stuff into my cavernous maw. You know the kind of thing… Breakfast – toast, marmalade, tea, banana. Lunch – Tuna salad, apple. Afternoon boredom snack – extra-large triple chocolate muffin. I know that this won’t be everyone’s  motivational tool of choice, but the written word is incredibly powerful to me. If something’s committed to paper then it has added validity, so I thought that seeing all the bacon and beers recorded in my own handwriting would make me consider how many of them I consume, and how often.

 

That was the theory, but my cunning plan began to work even before I put pen to paper. From the very first day I started to catalogue my intake I’ve been avoiding the aforementioned tasty tempting treats like the plague, as I know that if I eat one I’ll have to write it down. And if I write it down I have to share it with you.

 

Some might ask what difference does it make, who will know if you don’t record every delicious little pork pie or scrumptious Mr Kipling French Fancy? The answer of course is, I would. A phrase that will be familiar to all golfers is “record as many shots as you like, you’ll only be cheating yourself”. It’s the same idea.

 

As a result I’ve almost totally cut crisps and chocolate out of my diet. I’m not saying that I was a bit of an addict, but I hear that shares in Nestle and Walkers have tumbled. I expected that I could resist these ‘junk foods’ if I put my mind to it, but much more surprising has been the dumping of the beloved sausage sandwiches (with cheese and brown sauce). In fact my bread intake overall has decreased dramatically. I know my personal eating pattern better than anyone. It’s never been about taste for me, but routine. If it’s mealtime, it’s time to make yourself full, it doesn’t really matter what with. Thrice daily, perform the dining ritual.

 

But things are starting to change. The other day we had a small celebration. It was a friend’s birthday and he fancied pizza. Well, what are friends for? Naturally I helped him celebrate, but afterwards I was amazed at how full I felt. It was only a small pizza too. It isn’t that long ago that I’d have been demolishing a full dustbin lid sized pepperoni special (with extra pepperoni, extra cheese, and a bit more pepperoni for good measure) all by myself. And I’d have been considering a pudding to wash it down with. So I guess that my appetite is reducing along with my gut.

 

Beer too has simply fallen out of fashion for me. Perhaps I’m getting old or even, Heaven forefend, ‘growing up’, but the days of twelve hour drinking sessions appear to be behind me. My liver thanks me, even if my local landlord doesn’t. He’ll have to find some other way to pay for his new conservatory.

 

There’s a new proposal from the Government's Advisory Council on the Misuse of Drugs. They want to introduce a requirement to print calorific content on bottles of alcohol, just as it is on most other food and drink. It seems sensible. Slimmer’s World must think so too as they’ve been listing the calorie count of various beverages in their books for years. Weight watchers can work out how many beers (or wines, or flaming sambuca slammers imbibed from the navels of Peter Stringfellow’s finest ladies of entertainment… allegedly) they are going to allow themselves before a big night out. The trouble is that this kind of planning tends to go out of the window after the ninth pint of Stella.

 

And the general lack of inhibitions that alcohol abuse brings often leads to an attack of the Late Night Munchies. An unplanned trip to the dodgy greasy burger van could arise, or worst still you could find yourself chomping on the dreaded greasy elephant’s leg. Surely nothing in nature can be as bad for you as a kebab.

 

The maths seem simple enough. To lose weight one must simply expend more energy than one consumes. So I’ve got to work out how many calories I’m burning throughout each exercise session, as well as in simply going about my daily business. Then I need to keep a track of precisely what I eat (as I am doing), and then calculate the number of calories that this equates to. As the batteries in my calculator are dead, this all needs to be done on paper or in my head, which is beneficial in itself. Not only does it keep my brain active, but it takes forever to do, which leaves less time available for eating.

 

Perhaps that’s the answer; I should feed my mind, not my stomach?  Next time I feel peckish, rather than nip out to  Pies ‘R’ Us for a super-sized Steak ‘n’ Ale, I’ll get a great big book of Sudoku puzzles instead.

 

© 2008 Shaun Finnie

 

 

 

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