Just Off Center

I wake up in the morning and the first thought in my mind is no longer the question of whether or not I should jerk off, risking waking Nina. I wake up and I can almost smell the sweet cinnamon rolls that aren’t baking in the oven. I know that the coffee hasn’t been brewed yet, but I can detect a hint of its aroma and my dry mouth wets and my stomach grumbles, now empty of the night’s contents.

I get up and get cleaned up for the day and as I brush my teeth I wonder about the vanilla flavored Crest under the sink that I’ll be using once this plain tube is exhausted. The thought reminds me of the French vanilla creamers that I have recently eliminated from my morning coffee. I wonder about the other flavors I could use to give my morning jo that extra kick of sweetness; chocolate, hazelnut, butterscotch, Irish cream, and caramel. I walk into the kitchen and begin brewing my Yuban.

As I drive my hour commute through the East Valley I avoid all commercials. I know that they’ll be stuffed with ads for the newest sausage, egg and cheese croissant sandwich or the promise of a great breakfast burrito with sour cream and salsa for only ninety-nine cents. My stomach grumbles as I busy my mind with other thoughts. “This is temporary,” I tell myself. “The gnawing emptiness and the mental lust will subside”. I sip my coffee. And though its flavor satisfies me, it beckons me to pair it up with its friends Danish and cigarette. I resist and pull into the parking lot.

I start up my computer at my desk and insert my jump drive to open up my Excel based food journal. I copy and paste from the previous day to include today’s 18-ounce coffee. Eleven calories so far and not a single gram of fat. A good start. My stomach reminds me once again that it hasn’t been fed. It plays with my mind, putting in thoughts of how breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Bacon and an order of biscuits and gravy would be better used right now than any other time of the day. I ignore the thoughts and focus on my standard breakfast. I wait until 7:30ish and take the long walk to the main cafeteria with a coworker. I walk in and make my way past the fruit. I could really use a banana, but I’m not paying ninety-five cents for one. I walk past the toaster and the heat lamps containing those prefabricated micro burros I used to enjoy every day. $2.11 bought me a tortilla stuffed with egg, cheese, sausage, onion, and sometimes chorizo. I move past the sign advertising today’s special. “BODACIOUS BREAKFAST – WAFFLE BITES STUFFED WITH HAM AND EGG WITH HASH BROWNS - $2.65” I look away and move on toward the main grill. John, the grill man waits for me and knows what I’m having.

“Three Egg Beaters, John” I rattle off. John makes his way to the cooler and comes back with a cardboard half gallon container marked “Better ‘n Eggs” and pours my egg substitutes on the grill next to the peppers, onions, sausage, bacon and whatever else the person in front of me is having in his custom breakfast burrito. Two large bags of hash browned potatoes sear on the back of the grill. I turn around and face the ice bin loaded with yogurts and fruit cups. I’d pick one up if they weren’t so outrageously expensive. I take my plate of eggs and move to the register. $1.78 gets me my faux eggs and I stop off at the coffee bar to fill up a styrofoam cup with tap water. I pass by other breakfasters and take a seat with my coworkers who enjoy all manner of A.M. treats. I salt and pepper my egg substitutes and shove them down in one minute flat. If I close my eyes and concentrate they almost taste like real eggs.

After breakfast I make my way back to my office and try to get busy at work. I keep a bag of pretzels at my desk in case of emergency. But I know that every pretzel must be written in my food journal, so I abstain until I’m too hungry to pass them by. Around 10:00 my stomach reminds me that it can dissolve egg substitutes like it would be rewarded for speed. I stay hungry and occupy my mind with work until 11:30. I call Mike and make my way across the parking lot to the Subway ¼ mile away. I get in line and order the $2.49 special of the day, but only if it’s one of the healthy ones. Otherwise, I just pay regular price for a Subway Club. Sometimes I get the chips and drink, Baked Lays and a Diet Coke. I finish quickly and choose to enjoy the sensation rather than stare longingly at the ravaged sandwich wrapper. I refill my Diet Coke and slosh all the way back to my office. I write in my lunch’s value in my journal:

6” SUBWAY TURKEY BREAST AND HAM ON WHEAT
290 CALORIES
5 GRAMS OF FAT, 1.5 SATURATED

I’m pleased to still be under 500 calories for the day with only the evening left to suffer through. Nighttime is my hardest time, full of temptations. I snack on my pretzels and even indulge in another Diet Coke, caffeine free this time. I drive home and pull into my driveway. I see my Trek 4300 hanging in the garage. I come inside, drop my accessories, walk to the closet, change into shorts and a sleeveless shirt, and hop on my bike for a ride. It’s 3.27 miles around the big block. I never stop peddling. By the end my face is contorted and I can only breathe through my mouth, but I make it. I walk inside, panting. Sam and Nina are sitting in the living room. Sam asks me if I’m going to live. I pretend to be breathing too heavily to answer so that I don’t have to answer such a stupid question. I drink water and walk out back to the weight bench. I do bench press and bicep curls. Some days I do sit-ups. Abdominal exercises never feel good the way other muscles do when I exercise them. They only hurt, but I have to trust that the pain means I’m getting better.

It’s 6:00 and I’m coming down from my exercise high. I’m getting hungry again. Nina has prepared some baked chicken with green beans. She asks me what I’ve had to eat today. After I tell her she tells me I need to eat more. “You’re exercising now. You need to give your body some fuel.” But I have fuel. I have loads of stored fuel hanging all over my body like saddlebags of feed. I am using them up and have no intention of giving the feast of my fat a break. I try not to overeat at dinner. I try to only eat healthy foods. There are two boxes of Hot & Spicy Cheez-its in the cupboard and I’m proud I haven’t touched them in weeks. I’ll never throw them out. I busy myself some more with chores or a movie. Weariness settles in and I welcome it as a reprieve from temptation. In bed I feel my muscles relaxing and my body feels different to the touch. But it still needs a great deal of work.

It’s been a long day and I’ve suffered through hunger and the temptation of the wrong foods. But I won the battle for the day. I fall asleep and dream about blintzes and cheeseburgers. I swim in a sea of pasta and sit at banquet tables catered by Jack in the Box. I wake up in the morning and the first thought in my mind is no longer the question of whether or not I should jerk off, risking waking Nina.