It’s been one full week since I started intermittent fasting (fasting between 8 PM and noon) and eating mostly paleo. This means I haven’t had bread in seven days. This means I’m constantly hungry. This means I’m about to go crazy. All day I’ve been in a fog. Carb flu, some people call it. It’s what happens when your body is used to burning carbs for energy instead of fat for energy, even if you have a lot of fat to burn. (What?! We can use this stuff?) Fortunately, the switchover usually happens sometime between week one and week two. This means I should only have a few more days of constantly thinking about cinnamon rolls.

The good news about dramatically changing my eating habits (and getting back to the gym) this week is that I can already tell a difference. My clothes feel looser. My stomach looks flatter. I feel smaller. Now, does this mean I’ve actually lost weight? Hell if I know. Tomorrow morning I’ll step on the scales for the first time since last Monday and find out.

I’m prepared to be either elated or devastated.

If it’s the latter, I have cinnamon rolls on standby.

This afternoon I painted at a friend’s house. Currently I’m working on the kitchen. It’s room seven of seven. That is, it’s the last room in the main section of the house (there’s also a garage/laundry room area to tackle) that I’m transforming from all brown to all white (well, except some of the cabinets are going to be blue). Anyway, it’s taken longer than expected, but every time I’m there I walk around the entire house to remind myself just how much has been accomplished in the last seven weeks since I began. So often when starting a new room or new diet I get overwhelmed–like, There’s so much to do!–but looking at the progress I’ve already made reminds me it’s just a matter of continuing to show up and work on what’s in front of you (this wall, this meal).

As my friend Kim says, “What’s the secret to eating an elephant? Eat one bite at a time–and–don’t look at the elephant!”

Don’t look at the elephant. Amen.

Last Sunday night when I launched this whole program (I’m calling it the no-fun, lose-your-love-handles, beach-body-2020 diet), I made a list on my computer of health-related things I wanted to do this week–eat mostly paleo, drink half my body weight in ounces of water each day, bleach my teeth, get back to the gym, go for a walk. Just before starting tonight’s blog, I reviewed my list and–thankfully–I pretty much met my goals. Which feels good. The other thing I just did was to make a set of goals for this week, which, honestly, is a lot like last week’s list. Granted, my inner perfectionist wanted to add half a dozen new things including, Start a new workout routine!, but I forced myself to keep it simple. This is because I’d like to succeed at a reasonable program (and feel good) rather than fail at an unreasonable program (and feel like shit).

One thing I’ve noticed this week is that because I’ve been spending more time preparing meals and exercising I’ve had less time for things I normally enjoy like reading (and drinking beer). And whereas I wish I could squeeze it all in (and still squeeze into my pants), that’s simply not possible. There are only so many hours in the day, and as I said last week, sacrifice is required for anything you’d like to obtain or achieve. In other words, something’s gotta give. For me this means less reading, and–at least tonight because it’s almost eleven and I still need to exercise–less writing. It means being more intentional about how I use my time. It means setting priorities.

Ick.

Like an adult.