For the last three weeks I have been full of motivation and resolve, eating well, hitting the gym and seeing some downwards movement on the scales. Hurrah.
And then, the last couple of days I seem to have slumped back into “don’t care” mode. Tuesday night, I decided to eschew the stir fry that was planned for tea and dragged D out for a drink instead. And then, a bottle of wine down, we phoned our favourite restaurant on the off chance that they would have a table available, and they did. So we went.
The meal itself was absolutely wonderful. I’ve waxed lyrical about J. Baker’s before, but (and I can’t emphasise this enough) if you ever find yourself in York and don’t choose to eat here then…well, there’s not a lot I can do about it. But you’ll have missed out.
Of course, I can’t entirely regret a nice evening out with good company, and fantastic food, including some amazing fresh crab served with apple sorbet and spicy granola (wow!) and one of the most delicious duck dishes I’ve ever tasted (seared, served with vanilla salt and mandarin balsamic if you’re interested). And, as my last weigh in proved, one bad day doesn’t undo a good week. But I suppose what bothers me is why I chose to go off piste. What triggered this particular little act of rebellion. Because although one bad day won’t make a long term difference, one bad day has a habit of becoming two or three or…well, you get the gist.
I’m a wee bit stressed out work wise at the moment – I’ve signed up to do something that I really don’t want to do, something rather pressurised, something that will potentially involve being away from home for extended periods, which I hate. And, I’ll be honest, I’m worried about how these periods away will harm my eating habits – I’ll struggle to count the catered food, and I’ll be lonely and prone to comfort eating Kit Kats in my room. I’m a wee bit stressed out about the upcoming wedding as well – some of the decisions we’ve made have upset some people which in turn has upset me. But I’m just kidding myself that pressure of this, or any other sort, is a license to anaesthetising myself with food. Which is really what Tuesday night was all about.
So, as of today, as of right NOW, I’m putting it behind me and starting all over again, and the thought of Jeff’s sublime aubergine-with-fifty-spices or his delicate cauliflower foam served with a poached quail’s egg will most definitely NOT make me lose my focus…for the rest of this week at least.