It seemed significant somehow to me that I had stuck out six weeks on this dreaded diet. I couldn’t think why. I couldn’t think what was different about six weeks than five or seven. I kept trying to remember if I’d read about any mystical value to six weeks in one of my diet books that breaks everything down into phases and regimens. Was something supposed to happen at this point?
I finally decided that I was still a seven-year-old child at heart, and I expected to be tested after six weeks had gone by.
I have made a C. I am a terrible disappointment to myself. I should be an A student, but I am only a C student at The Diet.
If the Scales of Doom did not lie today, as they have been prone to do, I have now finally, after lo these many weeks of dieting, lost the first 10 pounds. That’s harsh. I want to put this diet into hyper-drive, but it just won’t shift.
This is why I’ve quit every diet I’ve started for the past few years. I am disheartened by this one. I’m worse than disheartened. I’m flummoxed. If it were a college class, I’d be thinking of dropping it. I would be brokering deals with a dean to keep my scholarship after I dropped it. But I’m this far in, and I have not failed outright, and so I forge ahead.
I did not get on the treadmill today. I have been bad. But I did pick up a broom and a mop, and I counted that as an even exchange. This is probably why I’m only a C student.
But 10 pounds!!! That’s more than a pound a week! That’s fantastic!!!
Perspective, my dear. That’s an A.