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Atkins after the first week

When I stood on the scales this morning it hit 73kg right on the nose. Before I started the diet last week I was at 77. That’s 4kg in one week. Whatever else you can say about Atkins, the only other times I have lost that much weight that quickly are when I’ve been stuck in bed with Scottish Barfing Syndrome (SBS) and unable to eat anything at all.

But not even that kind of weight loss can make up for the fact that this diet is making me utterly miserable. I’ve learned that for me, the pleasure I derive from food resides in carbohydrates. By cutting out the carbs, I’ve cut out my joy.

After a meal I feel full but never satisfied. Before meal times I don’t feel hungry, I feel nauseous. The thought of having to eat meat turns my stomach. Intellectually I know that’s partly a low blood sugar kind of thing. I know that I’ll feel much better after I’ve forced myself to eat something. But at the time I really do have to force myself to cook, or to sit down to eat. For all the enjoyment I get from a nice chunk of beef or a succulent roast chicken, I might as well be scarfing down those multi-coloured protein cubes you got in 70s science fiction films. They’re just about as appetising.

As I was walking by the bakery section in Safeway on Friday, I almost lost it. I had to suppress a hysterical giggle bubbling up inside of me. I had visions of running over to the fresh bread counter, ripping the crust off a large bloomer and burying my face in the soft, warm expanse of white loaf. Then I’d take my clothes off and rub the crust all over my naked body just to see if I could absorb any more carbohydrates through my pores.

To summarise: Atkins is effective for me, and I’ll keep it up for the second week of the “induction phase” (20g carb/day) on the off-chance that my body is just taking a long time to adjust to the new balance of nutrients, but I really don’t like it. It doesn’t feel like a diet, it feels like punishment. On a calorie-controlled diet (1500kCal/day) I do feel hungry, but the hunger feels virtuous. It doesn’t make me miserable. We’ll see how it goes, but a week from now it may be time to switch.

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Day 5 of Atkins

Q: What would you rather eat for dinner this evening: a succulent breast of chicken with scrambled eggs and hot sauce, or a single dry slice of brown bread?

A: Oh, no question. It’s got to be the bread.

Q: What about a totally decadent snack while you’re watching TV later on in the evening? A selection of fine mature cheeses and some roasted hazelnuts, or a single dry slice of brown bread?

A: Gotta be the bread again, mate.

Q: And for breakfast at the weekend? Bacon, eggs, sausage, and fried mushrooms, or ack…get your hands…aagh…off my…ghhg…throat!

A: Stop playing with my mind and just give me the damn bread!

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Scary morning headlines

I awoke this morning to this quote on Radio 4: “The Iraqi experiment in democracy is taking place in a pretty scary neighbourhood.”

The American pundit being interviewed then continued to explain how Syria was aiding terrorist organisations, providing a safe haven for fleeing Iraqi officials from Saddam Hussein’s regime, and holding large stocks of chemical weapons. (I turned the radio off again pretty quickly.)

And the top story in this morning’s Guardian is that George Bush has apparently “vetoed” plans to go to war against Syria.

This offends on so many levels. First of all, how could a Radio 4 news presenter let anyone get away with a quote like that? “The Iraqi experiment in democracy?” As if the Iraqi people had decided to dabble with free elections for a lark, instead of having their previous government overthrown by an invading foreign power. As if they are running their country themselves now, rather than being told what to do by an occupying military force. As if this whole war thing (which we’d rather not mention any more) was all about liberation.

Secondly, Syria. On all of the points made against it: duh. What country in the Middle East doesn’t?

Third, George Bush’s political machine. He gets his hawkish factions all charged up with a relatively short, victorious war against Iraq. Then these same hawks rile up public opinion even more by mouthing off against Syria, raising the spectre of a rolling invasion eventually covering all of Iraq’s neighbours. This allows Bush to come in and act magnanimously by ruling out war against another country.

Wow. Picture that. He invades Poland Iraq, then gets credit for not going even further. Maybe he’s not such a bad guy after all! Maybe he did have the good of the Iraqi people at heart all along! We liberated them, didn’t we?

The whitewash started before the war even began. History will tell the whole story, but probably won’t tell it until after the 2004 US presidential election. If the Bush regime can persuade the American people to ignore the facts for just a little bit longer (easier than it should be, unfortunately), they will secure a second term in office, cement the Neo-Republican power base, and have another four years in which to make the world even an even safer place for terrorists corporate profits respectful, law-obiding citizens! Hurrah!

Where the hell is the opposition?

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Dada Rocks!

When playing video games with Alex around, I’ve got in the habit of saying “Oh no! Dada’s rubbish!” whenever I make a silly mistake. Alex has picked up on this, and he usually chimes in with a “Dada ubbsh” of his own.

Yesterday afternoon, we were playing Metroid Fusion. It took me a while of getting hammered by Baby Sheegoths before I got the hang of jumping around them. When I did, defeating them was a great triumph. “Yay!” I said. “Dada rocks!”

“Dada wock!” Alex exclaimed. “Yay! Dada wocks!”

That was cool. A little later on, when we turned off the game, Alex grabbed me by the hand, looked up at me, and said again “Dada wocks!” I thought he meant walk, because “walk” is one of the words he knows well. (Along with “doodles” for “shoulders”, and “push” for “pushchair”, these are phrases we use all the time when we’re out and about.)

He led me out of the living room, and to our front door, which he made me open. With another emphatic “Dada wocks,” he clambered down the step, and toddled over to our driveway. He reached down, picked up a handful of gravel, and took it back over to me. He held up his hands and urged me to take the stones.

“Dada rocks!”

Thanks, Alex. 🙂