My new favorite fad diet

I hate being fat. I hate it every day. I get up and look at myself and the self-loathing starts from the moment my eyes focus on that horribly large shape in the mirror. Apart from the obvious problem of fat people being so awful that new research shows you shouldn't even befriend them, the reasons that I most hate being fat are 1) that your thin friends think you can sympathize with their "I feel so fat" moments because you are fat and understand what a miserable, horrible existence they would lead if they became as fat as you are - really, it's a fun conversation every time I get to have it; and 2) I have to hate food, which I love, because every bite is a condemnation of my inability to control myself and be wonderful and thin and perfect and desirable as a mate OR friend.

I hate being fat.

Now, many readers will recall that I have successfully beaten some of my fat only twice in my life - once with a little jewel of a medical miracle called Fen-Phen (damn you cheerleaders who got it taken off the market by using it to fuel your anorexia!) and once through the ice cream diet. I really love Fen-Phen (and consider buying it off foreign markets almost every day - to hell with my heart - I would rather live 3 thin years than 30 fat ones - who wouldn't?! Have you heard how horrible fat people are?) but the ice cream diet was much more delicious. Alas, I now live with small children who need to learn a balanced diet so I have had to restore my fat pads by eating a well-rounded meal instead of a nightly bowl of ice cream.

I have longed for a new fad diet and since losing the ice cream diet have tried a variety of wellness fasts that permit an evening meal, the "balanced" approach (what a bunch of shiz), and some cabbage misery I'd prefer not to remember. Well, my first London memory to share with you all is the latest in my contribution to the fad diet possibilities of the world: The French pastry diet.

I left for London as I leave for everything - fat, frumpy, and only pretending you can hide all of that behind a trendy jacket. I have been on Meridia (a new weight loss non-miracle drug) for a month and lost NOTHING, of course, despite a carefully controlled 1500 Calorie regimen of boring food. For the first few days in London, I continued along my path - carefully portioned high-protein snacks, a 250 Calorie breakfast, and one larger meal per day wherein I could eat no more than 1/2 of the portion presented. With all the walking, I felt sure that I would be able to burst through my setpoint and return home on the way to a more hopeful future wherein I could be my own friend and maybe get a guy with an education to like me a little.

Then I met "cake" - the English word for all pastry. I really loved "cake" of course. I'm a fat girl. Fat girls love butter and sugar in all their varieties. I intended to eat just one....but that became one a day...and rapidly one per meal. And so I said "screw you" to the diet and ate "cake" for at least 2 meals per day. I really have no self-control.

Now, Europeans love butter so the "cake" was not full of trans fat and fructose and corn syrup like the American versions. So, a piece of "cake" was quite filling. I would eat some fruit and "cake" and be quite satisfied. Sometimes, I'd have a bit of tea to wash it down - no sugar because European tea is sweet not bitter. In addition to all the "cake", I walked. I walked as far as my little, fat legs could toddle before my feet exploded from the tons of pressure shaking unpredictably above them (much less far than Cate, of course, who has barely 100 pounds above her knees despite the fact that I'm a regular exerciser and Cate started exercising about 10 days before the trip) but I waddled around most of London.

We walked over here. Then we walked over there. Then I puffed up some stairs and let my massive momentum carry me back down. At the bottom of the stairs, we walked to some more stairs - 414 of them to the top of St. Paul's - and then 100+ at the Tower of London. Then we walked across the Thames and through Westminster. We walked through Chelsea (7 miles that day). We walked the largest galleries ever seen (and I was only banned from one room for causing mini-seismic events - the British are so picky about those Elgin marbles). As the week wore on, I noticed that my walking clothes were fitting a little looser - I figured I was stretching them so I ate some more "cake" to make sure they didn't fall off me - I had no replacement gear.

I stepped on the scale yesterday because weighing yourself is a good misery-inducer if you've accidentally felt happy for a moment. I was shocked. I had lost 3 pounds even with the huge amount of water still pooled in my chubby ankles. I laughed. Leave it to me to lose weight eating "cake" but gain 10 pounds eating lettuce.

Maybe tonight I'll load some pictures...but don't get your hopes up. 3 pounds does not a fat girl un-make....at most, it just slows the jiggle a bit. I guess we should have saved the Elgins for the last day of the trip!