I’ve been on this restricted diet for 19 days. 19 days of no ice cream or M&M’s after a meal, no wine, no crackers, no chips and dip, hardly any cheese or croutons, no suckers or hard candy, no Bloody Mary’s, no bagels and cream cheese, no pizza, no eating out… and I am sad to report that I haven’t lost a God damn, single, mother- fucking pound. I cannot begin to tell you how disheartening this feels to be doing everything right and paying such attention to detail food wise down to the gram, and working out so hard at the gym every day for literally no change on the scales. If I was on the Biggest Loser they’d kick my ass off. Here’s what keeps me going though, muscle weighs more than fat and I had better be converting some of the 16% body fat I had 2 weeks ago into lean muscle mass. Problem is I can’t afford to do the hydrostatic body fat testing every 2 weeks to measure my progress! Who can? Probably someone who pays a trainer and nutritionist before signing on to do an NPC bikini competition! So, in lieu of that I made an appointment for another InBody Composition Test at my good ol’ YMCA. The Y somehow has never charged me for these, we kept waiting for the charge to show up on our monthly bill but somehow they’ve missed it and I’m too cheap to mention it. These are the electro-current tests my husband and I did several of last year to monitor our weight loss and progress. I haven’t had one done since November, a little over 4 months ago. So while I know it isn’t as accurate as the water body fat testing, at least I have some record to go by and I anticipate seeing some change there.
The InBody tests were so nice, they lied to me and said I had just 12% body fat last November which would’ve made me bikini ready at that time- yeah right! The hydrostatic test shows I’m actually at 16%, but we’ll see what this weeks InBody reveals Friday morning. At the very least it should show some more skeletal muscle mass gains, and if not I’ll probably end this blog, kiss my children goodbye, and go drive off a cliff somewhere. Karen, my friend and former bikini competitor, reassured me that she went three whole weeks without the scale budging and to keep the faith, body fat is being lost in there somewhere. God knows I can’t see a difference but I’ll keep keepin’ on because I’ve already ran my damn mouth off too much about my plans to do this.
I’m not sure if it’s the restricted no fun diet or the fact that I’ve always hated the sound of someone else chewing their food, but I find myself leaving the room while my husband eats dinner. The other night I finished my usual bowl of roasted veggies and 4 oz of grilled chicken breasts as he sits down with a plate full of chicken wings, carrots and blue cheese dressing. CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH SUCK SUCK SUCK LICK LICK LICK!!!! I was immediately transported back to the 5th grade when my best friend would be over and I’d turn the TV up louder and louder so as to not hear her heavy, partially open-mouth breathing, only the problem is, when you try to avoid sounds like that, they become ALL YOU CAN HEAR. I once read about this issue and it actually has a name, misophonia. It’s a legit ailment and turns out people with misophonia have frontal lobes built differently than “non-sufferers”. I’m not sure if I should blame my mom for being a gum popping fool in the 1980’s or my brother who still to this day will crunch on a mouth full of ice cubes just to get a rise out of me. Maybe it was my dad constantly clearing his throat, or my best friend smacking her lips when she ate and breathed heavily during every movie we ever watched. I don’t know but that shit pisses me right off and it seems real as hell now that I can’t enjoy any of that fucking blue cheese dressing.
On a happier note, my 3 year old daughter, Vivi, has made a full recovery from her exorcism a few weeks ago. She’s back to her old sweet self, listening well, being helpful and cooperative and this week started saying, “Aye aye Captain Mama!” when I ask her to do ANYTHING. It’s the most amazing and adorable thing I’ve ever seen, thank you Peppa Pig and your Captain Daddy Pig episode. She now salutes me when I ask her to put dirty laundry away or go take a nap. I won’t hold out hope for this phase lasting long but I’m going to take advantage while I can.
I was bored the other night and since I can’t eat or drink anything fun I attempted to put on a full face of smoky eyes, fake lashes, and sparkly earrings. I bought foundation (something I never wear) in a good 4 shades darker than my own skin. The color is called “Tawny”, if you Google it, you will only find pictures of the black women who use it, so I figured this was a good shade to match up with my fake tan I’ll have come show day. But to be honest after applying what I felt was clown level makeup, the photos really don’t show that. I mean I look done up, but I don’t think this will be enough to stand out on a brightly lit stage next to 25 other bronzed girls. I didn’t think I’d look like I was wearing black face, but I definitely thought there would be an unnatural look to my made up face, but in the end I kind of just felt like I looked like a New Jersey guidette. I texted my mom the pics as well of some pictures of other competitors in their “stage makeup” and my mom said that it looks like I need to just “wear as much make up as a tranny and you’ll be perfect!” Solid advice from mom per usual.