Greetings, dear readers. I want to invite you to come inside my mind.
No, really, it’s okay, come on in. There’s plenty of empty space. Just me, some arcane sports trivia, most of the dialogue from the 1981 movie THIEF, a great chicken cacciatore recipe and… my addiction.
Addiction is a cunning, baffling opponent. Be it heroin, cocaine, booze, meth, nicotine, porn, or food. And while the reasons for addiction are varied – depression, self-esteem, abuse, self-medication, blah, blah, blah, once we’re all in the dark, we are all in the dark.
I am a food addict. Or rather, an eating addict. A recovering eating addict.
And like all recovering heroin or meth or nicotine addicts, regardless of how many days, weeks, months or years I’ve been clean, I am always only one bad decision away from falling back down the rabbit hole.
But lately I have been taking it to the Whispering Jabberwock known as addiction. I’ve been on this pound-a-week descent and doing it not by riding miles upon miles, but by controlling my addiction.
210… 209… 208… and then last week’s weight…
207lbs. The lightest I’ve been all year.
Without any significant riding.
Not only am I not riding much at all, but it’s not like I’m eating healthy. Not like one of those people who eat incredibly healthy all the time, like Sam Bangs. Okay, no one eats as healthy as Sam. But you know what I mean.
All I’m doing is not eating at night, and focusing on portion control.
And I’m losing weight.
And this brings me to why I’ve invited you all inside my mind. Inside the mind of an addict.
See, the Whispering Jabberwock knows when I’m controlling my addiction. When I’m refusing to let it control me. And being a cunning, baffling opponent, the Whispering Jabberwock never gives up. Ever. And is always working, always plotting and planning.
One of its most successful ploys is the “celebration dip.” You’ve all been there – when you lose a bunch of weight or hit a certain goal and the Whispering Jabberwock convinces you to celebrate with just a little something – a beer or cake or pizza, etc. “It’ll be okay… after all, you just lost a bunch of weight. You’ve got room for this.”
And so you do, and he has you again.
But lately the Whispering Jabberwock has been failing. I’ve been dominating him. So he changed his tactics.
What follows is exactly what happened the day I stepped on the scale and it read 207…
I stepped on expecting perhaps a pound gained because I knew I hadn’t ridden and knew I’d had my moules-frites whining meal, and had this nagging feeling that this can’t continue, this non-riding descent. Then I saw 207.
And the FIRST thing that went through my mind was not joy, or elation, or relief… the first thing that went through my mind was:
“The scale must be broken. There’s no way I could be down to 207.”
No satisfaction, no pride, nothing but an immediate conviction that there was no way I could be that small.
You think the Whispering Jabberwock stopped there? No, dear readers, he attacked again.
What I found myself doing that day and the next was purposely eating way too much — in order to make sure the scale was working properly. Wait, what?
That’s right. My addiction convinced myself within seconds of my new weight that I did not deserve it, that there was no way it could be right, and that the only way to prove it was to eat a whole bunch of food over the next week, then weigh in again — if the scale still says 207 (or less) then I know it’s broken.
So that day and the over the next day I ate fried chicken and other bad stuff, and too much of it, ate at night, and basically put a gun in my mouth.
Late on the second day of this brilliant move by the Whispering Jabberwock, I had just finished my fourth piece of fried chicken, polished off the mashed potatoes and gravy that came with it, and for some reason, was feeling like complete crap.
Was I sick again? No… then what was it?
And then it hit me. My body was reacting to this poison I was putting in it. Then I realized it wasn’t even tasting good.
WTF am I doing? Seriously??? The scale might be broken so I better eat enough to gain weight to find out???
I sat there in complete shock of what I’d done over the last 48 hours. Of course the scale wasn’t broken. How would that ridiculous idea ever get inside my mind?
The Whispering Jabberwock.
I did all I could the rest of the week to fix it, but the damage had been done.
Guess what, doofus, your scale WORKS.
My name is Fizzhogg and I am an addict.
I have been clean for three days.
Ride your bike.
Kick the Whispering Jabberwock right between the legs.
Fair winds and following seas, Willy