Day 7: The Last SupperDude food lesson No. 7: Don't be a hero
Earlier this week I bought a package of bacon that I'm determined to eat. I've never in my life felt so ambivalent about the crackling sound of sizzling meat or bacon's hickory-tinged aroma. I dig deep and manage to polish off eight slices, plus eggs, that, if I'm being honest, are probably about half shredded cheese.
By lunch I'm full of dread. Until now, I'd been looking forward to today's Arby's lunch. As a teen I'd drive to the next town over just to satisfy my Big Montana cravings (a habit I kicked once I developed an adult metabolism and a little nutritional self-awareness). Under normal circumstances, I'd relish this rare guilty pleasure. But today, I am a broken woman. I glare at the gray layers of meat nestled in the plush Arby's bun You've got this, I whisper to myself, attracting one fast-food worker's quizzical look.
Afterward I can't entertain the idea of eating for several hours. I stare at the TV and will my stomach to digest. When my hunger pangs return, I know it's over. I reach for my phone, and instead of ordering a large meat-lover's pizza as planned, I demand that Siri connect me to the nearest vegan restaurant. Within an hour my dinner is at my doorstep: A quinoa power salad.
"I'm a quitter," I moan to my husband, mouth full of bell pepper, avocado and fennel. He kindly reminds me that men eat vegetables too as he tucks into his bowl of Cap'n Crunch.
Calories consumed: 1,797
Time spent preparing food: 15 minutes
Current mental state: Utterly defeated
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