Disappearing of course is not just the business of not eating X, Y, tasty-as-fuck Z, and eating pretty much cardboard and salads. It's also about increasing the amount of energy expended in any given day, so the body wakes up to a new normal, and releases some of the stored fat to burn the energy it's not getting from all the high-fat, high-sugar shit it's grown accustomed to getting.
The Disappearing Man has never really been just about 'Here's what I ate, here's what I evacuated, here's what I did.' But in an effort to show the balance of factors, I shoudl probably record that every day since the first of the new blog posts, I've got off my ass and done some walking.
Having been stricken with a lurgi at the start of the week, and being chronically out of practice, I didn't go far the first couple of days - just 5000 steps or so, from my house, up a steady hill (Merthyr Tydfil is basically what Nature did with all the unweildy hilly bits it, past a gas station to a roundabout, and back, picking up a treat for d and a vending machine coffee for myself on the way back.
Yesterday, we were in Cardiff, so this neat, if slightly clumsy, routine was interrupted. But the fun about that is that an aimless amble around Cardiff added up to over 7000 steps. We actually had a meal out last night, and I decided not to care about it, because even when Disappearing, you can drive yourself absolutely nuts if you turn the world into a bunch of calorie-values - and believe me, I've done that before now. It's waaaay too early to, as d puts it, 'obsess like a Californian Valley Girl' about calorie values - my body's no kind of temple right now, so at this point, it's just about pushing things down, pushing things in the right direction, kickstarting the process.
Today, my appalling deadline schedule has meant I've had my ass planted to the chair, editing my face off. Had an Indian ready meal this evening, and - which was less wise - a cereal breakfast this morning. Need to not do that until I can master the art of minimisation again, the art of having two Weetabix, a little milk and feeling satisfied with that. This morning, two Weetabix, a handful of Bran Flakes and a handful of granola. Too damned much, frankly - especially on a day as generally sedentary as this.
The sun went down and the demands of the business kept me planted to the chair till after 7 o'clock. I was fed, watered, warm and busy, and the greatest temptation in the world was to say 'Fuck it, I'll exercise tomorrow.'
Fortunately, at the moment at least, I'm able to recognise that impulse and turn it in on itself, using it as an alarm to get my ass out the door.
Changed my route tonight, going up something that even in my town of hills has earned itself the name 'Dangerous Hill,' and up through the first home I remember, a region called Penydarren.
Penydarren's built like a sloping roof - lots of streets built parallel on a sharp angle to a topmost strut-street, which itself goes upward from the base of the Dangerous Hill (the picture for this entry, all the way to the gateway to two other regions, the Gurnos and Dowlais regions. Almost at the crossroads of those regions is the gas station that's become my base camp and turnaround point.
I haven't lived in Penydarren for decades.
I'm now fairly sure that while I've been away, someone has stuck a jack under the ass end of Penydarren and pushed that bastard up, because damn! I swear it never used to be that steep.
Admittedly I was younger and lighter and fitter the last time I tried to walk the damn thing, but still, I think my jacked-up theory has merit.
Ended up walking about 6900 steps, though significantly more of them were uphill tonight than on any of the previous walks, so I can feel it more in the legs tonight.
So the exercise restart continues - I'd like to think my Tuesday, I'll be up to the standard 10,000 steps a day. On we go to New Year's Eve, and to notional new beginnings. So sue me, I like to get my new beginnings in ahead of the crowd.
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