On the Way to Dangertown

This week I launched into the Controlled Trade Technique and tried out some "dangerous" food choices.  I was successful in eating some Easter chocolate, some gravy, and a slice of pizza.  By successful I mean I didn't fall off the diet wagon after eating them.  And I ate them slowly, savoring each bite as the Controlled Trade Technique requires.  For 5/8 ounce of chocolate, I traded 1/2 bread and 1 fat.  I did that twice last week.  I also had 4 T. of gravy with Easter roast beef, trading 1/2 bread and 1 fat for that too.  Finally, I had a section of pizza for lunch yesterday (my coworkers surprised me and my fellow admin assistants with it), for which I traded 2 fats, 2 breads, and 1 1/2 oz chicken (half a lunch protein).

Now, because I'm so many weeks into the diet, I determined I could do more than one controlled trade per week.  The trades were supposed to start the third week, but since I'm in the ninth week, I figured I should be up to six by now.  So four trades was okay. 

A funny thing happened on the way to Dangertown, though.  I found that the Thin Gourmet technique helped, not only to get me to slow down and appreciate the former binge foods as I was eating them, but also to really taste them.  And really tasting them had a surprising result: I determined they weren't all that wonderful.  Oh, sure, they were tasty, but I wasn't convinced they were worth giving up what I had to give up to eat them.

For instance, eating the candy slowly and paying attention to its taste made me realize that chocolate is very acidic--too acidic, really.  I drank milk as I was eating it, as I have often done with chocolate, and realized for the first time that milk cuts the acid in chocolate, which is why I drink it.  In the end, eating the chocolate seemed more like an experiment than a treat.  Could it be that wolfing chocolate down unconsciously is the only way to enjoy it?  Hmmm.  Or maybe I need to eat a better brand of chocolate?  But that can't be, because it was Hershey's chocolate and I've been enjoying Hershey's for many years.  Or maybe, just maybe, the appeal is in the forbidden quality of the treat.  If it's legit, eaten in the open, somehow it loses its charm? Something to ponder . . .

I lost interest in the pizza, too, after a while.  I ate the toppings, but they weren't enough, really, for a satisfying meal.  And the bread was too much, so I left a third of it behind.  I was affirmed in my belief that pizza is mostly bread, fat, and salt.  I was full after eating it, but then a couple of hours later I was hungry for something substantial and decided to go ahead and eat the lunch I had brought.  (But then I forgot that I ate the extra 1 1/2 oz of meat when it came time for supper. Oh, well.) 

At that point I was thinking that though the pizza was good and I appreciated the gesture, it wasn't really a substitute for lunch.  It was a celebratory snack, which is fine.  And because of that, it wasn't necessary to eat more than one piece in order to join the celebration and show gratitude for the gift.  I don't think anyone noticed that I didn't eat half a pizza. (That particular subterfuge--the Martyr--was revealed to be what it was.)

As for the binge quality of the chocolate, I found that while I was not craving the chocolate, I did have the urge to eat it to get rid of it.  That's part of my relationship with food, too--bringing treats into the house which must then be gotten rid of somehow, and since I have an aversion to throwing food away, that means it must be given away or eaten.  And "eaten" is usually the choice.

By the way, the gravy was no problem.  I made the gravy and so knew how much flour and fat went into it.  I didn't feel the urge to eat more gravy than I allowed myself, so maybe gravy is a food I can include in my diet.  As a substitute for fat, it's not a bad choice--lends a little variety to what has become our rather plain fare.

So, I learned a lot this week and I plan to go on flirting with "dangerous" food choices in the future. Maybe soon I can tackle ice cream . . .