Ftrain, by Paul Ford

This is an unpleasant morning. Yesterday's Vietnamese meal must have been at least 60 percent MSG. For an hour after the meal I was hypersensitive to bright lights. I was fitful throughout the night and woke up puffy. [Wife] was up until 4AM. "No wonder the beef broth was so good," she said this morning. A high price to pay for umami.

This was not my finest weekend. I want to say: "in the past, this would have been nothing," and enumerate all the foods I might have eaten and drinks I might have drunk. But that past is no longer immediate enough to be an excuse. I have plenty of data that prove that there are other behaviors that fit perfectly well into the structure of a weekend.

I didn't exercise (well, I did ride my bike a bit and walk, but without enthusiasm). I didn't want to use my custom calorie-management tool or write in this fatness journal. I read a crappy novel, ate Chinese (and ribs) and felt anxious. All of this is in sharp contrast to the 2,100-calorie-a-day eight-miles-a-day self. The 4,000-calories-a-day self of a few months ago would have found it normal, wouldn't have understood why it's a big deal. "You'll deal with it," he'd say, digging into a bag of chips. "Just relax."

So this is the new bad behavior. It's good to identify it. But I've noticed a certain creep--the number of calories per day edging closer, and going over, the set number. "Well," I think to myself, "you still lose weight every day. So why worry about the number? The number is a bad idea in any case." And yes, the number--2,100--is meaningless in the larger scope of things. Arbitrary, unsubtle, rough, non-scientific. But this is about training myself to color inside the lines, working within a framework, following rules, accepting an order. If the materials aren't providing any resistance I need to add some. Even stupid rules. So today, without fail, 2,100.

Weight: 332 lbs