Day 2 - A Stake In the Heart
I awoke this morning cold and with more anxiety than usual, scrambled to gather my things, wash my hair, and get into half a Halloween costume (a corset and mens' button-up resewn into an off the shoulder top, which not many people saw under a sweater, scarf, hat, and coat). I was 15 minutes late to work, but nobody seemed to notice. The anxiety abated, and I chalked it up to a possible bad dream that I don't remember.
I started the workday with another bulletproof coffee edition, this time with Trader Joe's heavy whipping cream instead of coconut oil. This was a more pleasant alternative for me; though it was terribly heavy, I preferred the flavor and texture of the cream. As I was still hungry after my first mug, I made myself another decaf version and hoped that two hundred calories of pure milk fat would carry me through the day.
It did, and I headed out for my site visit at 12:15 without having eaten any solid food, hungry but not starving, weak, or tired. I'm amazed at how different the quality of the hunger experience is already with no carbs or sugar in my system; the desperation drug-addict aspect is simply not present. I visited Bonacio Metals' shop to answer some questions and observe progress on the hood shroud and fireplace cladding, then drove up to Queensbury to check on the contractors at Little.
There was nothing going on at the site. However, suddenly, there was A LOT going on in my bowels. My stomach was cramping, and I felt an urgent pressure that might have just been gas, but I strained to contain. I started to feel an ache in my chest, lower than my heart, like I'd been stabbed in the sternum. There was a porter potty on site, but something in my gurgling gut told me that what was brewing could not be contained in that plastic box. I felt a leaking sensation, like the beginnings of a runny nose, at the edge of my anal sphincter, threatening to drip and pulling back, over and over again. I had to get back to the office, STAT.
40 minutes later I was on that porcelain throne, rocking back and forth and gripping my thighs to distract from the agony in my intestines. With an audible groan the seal burst and liquid diarrhea spewed forth, much less solid and in much greater volume than yesterday's. My eyes teared as, almost against my will, spasms of diarrhea erupted from me again and again, splashing into the bowl and casting a spray around the sides. My eyes teared up and covered my nose with my shirt, trying not to vomit from the mouth end as well. I was grateful for the wise words of one YouTuber I listened to yesterday and had the good sense to heed; "Never trust a keto fart."
After my explosion of geologic proportion, I felt like a new person, and a hungry one at that. Around 3PM I started on some salami-wrapped cheese sticks my parents bought at Walmart this weekend. The perfect keto snack and most substantive food I've had since beginning the Fat Fast, I devoured four in a matter of minutes and repeatedly reminded myself not to eat the rest for the remainder of the day.
I stayed at work until 6:45 to finish up a set of custom staircase details that has been sucking up far more than its fair share of hours (and found this informative YouTube video while listening and drafting: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aHKaygC0PnQ) Finally free from that and my poo poo projectile, I was ready to treat myself to a fatty dinner of chocolate delight. However, the breastbone pain that had started around 1:30 was worsening, bringing with it a slight nausea and more than a little anxiety. Could I already have clogged my arteries and giving myself a heart attack? Was I going to die like this? Would I have to stop keto before I'd even begun?
The heat wasn't working when I got home, so I stayed in full winter gear as I started on the chocolate creamcheese truffle recipe I'd found on the back of a box of baker's chocolate in the grocery store last week. Modifying it to accommodate keto, what I had in the house, and undoubtedly the twisting of my shitty memory, I ended up with something that was more of a fat pill to swallow than a chocolate treat. I tasted and tasted different iterations of the mixture (black chocolate, two packets of Truvia, and 4 oz. of Philadelphia creamcheese), adding vanilla, cinnamon, almond milk, and almond slivers, but the final product was still nauseating. However, I bought the ingredients and invested the time, so I sat down with two dank truffles, a spoonful of peanut butter, apple cider vinegar in water (supposedly a fat loss magic pill) and Orange is the New Black. I don't know that I've ever followed a more counterintuitive diet. I definitely have never enjoyed chocolate less.
And still, the pain in my chest peaking every time I breathed! I felt like a vampire speared by a stake, hewn from cholesterol instead of silver. I gave in and called my parents, whose diagnoses can be off but are usually less scary than WebMD. They cheerfully and confidently assured me that it was heartburn, and I rushed out to the grocery store for some medication. Alka-seltzer chewables seemed more friendly than Zantac (not to mention cheaper), and after popping two tropical fruit chews in the parking lot, I was well in 5 minutes. Wow. So that's heartburn.
I started the workday with another bulletproof coffee edition, this time with Trader Joe's heavy whipping cream instead of coconut oil. This was a more pleasant alternative for me; though it was terribly heavy, I preferred the flavor and texture of the cream. As I was still hungry after my first mug, I made myself another decaf version and hoped that two hundred calories of pure milk fat would carry me through the day.
It did, and I headed out for my site visit at 12:15 without having eaten any solid food, hungry but not starving, weak, or tired. I'm amazed at how different the quality of the hunger experience is already with no carbs or sugar in my system; the desperation drug-addict aspect is simply not present. I visited Bonacio Metals' shop to answer some questions and observe progress on the hood shroud and fireplace cladding, then drove up to Queensbury to check on the contractors at Little.
There was nothing going on at the site. However, suddenly, there was A LOT going on in my bowels. My stomach was cramping, and I felt an urgent pressure that might have just been gas, but I strained to contain. I started to feel an ache in my chest, lower than my heart, like I'd been stabbed in the sternum. There was a porter potty on site, but something in my gurgling gut told me that what was brewing could not be contained in that plastic box. I felt a leaking sensation, like the beginnings of a runny nose, at the edge of my anal sphincter, threatening to drip and pulling back, over and over again. I had to get back to the office, STAT.
40 minutes later I was on that porcelain throne, rocking back and forth and gripping my thighs to distract from the agony in my intestines. With an audible groan the seal burst and liquid diarrhea spewed forth, much less solid and in much greater volume than yesterday's. My eyes teared as, almost against my will, spasms of diarrhea erupted from me again and again, splashing into the bowl and casting a spray around the sides. My eyes teared up and covered my nose with my shirt, trying not to vomit from the mouth end as well. I was grateful for the wise words of one YouTuber I listened to yesterday and had the good sense to heed; "Never trust a keto fart."
After my explosion of geologic proportion, I felt like a new person, and a hungry one at that. Around 3PM I started on some salami-wrapped cheese sticks my parents bought at Walmart this weekend. The perfect keto snack and most substantive food I've had since beginning the Fat Fast, I devoured four in a matter of minutes and repeatedly reminded myself not to eat the rest for the remainder of the day.
I stayed at work until 6:45 to finish up a set of custom staircase details that has been sucking up far more than its fair share of hours (and found this informative YouTube video while listening and drafting: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aHKaygC0PnQ) Finally free from that and my poo poo projectile, I was ready to treat myself to a fatty dinner of chocolate delight. However, the breastbone pain that had started around 1:30 was worsening, bringing with it a slight nausea and more than a little anxiety. Could I already have clogged my arteries and giving myself a heart attack? Was I going to die like this? Would I have to stop keto before I'd even begun?
The heat wasn't working when I got home, so I stayed in full winter gear as I started on the chocolate creamcheese truffle recipe I'd found on the back of a box of baker's chocolate in the grocery store last week. Modifying it to accommodate keto, what I had in the house, and undoubtedly the twisting of my shitty memory, I ended up with something that was more of a fat pill to swallow than a chocolate treat. I tasted and tasted different iterations of the mixture (black chocolate, two packets of Truvia, and 4 oz. of Philadelphia creamcheese), adding vanilla, cinnamon, almond milk, and almond slivers, but the final product was still nauseating. However, I bought the ingredients and invested the time, so I sat down with two dank truffles, a spoonful of peanut butter, apple cider vinegar in water (supposedly a fat loss magic pill) and Orange is the New Black. I don't know that I've ever followed a more counterintuitive diet. I definitely have never enjoyed chocolate less.
And still, the pain in my chest peaking every time I breathed! I felt like a vampire speared by a stake, hewn from cholesterol instead of silver. I gave in and called my parents, whose diagnoses can be off but are usually less scary than WebMD. They cheerfully and confidently assured me that it was heartburn, and I rushed out to the grocery store for some medication. Alka-seltzer chewables seemed more friendly than Zantac (not to mention cheaper), and after popping two tropical fruit chews in the parking lot, I was well in 5 minutes. Wow. So that's heartburn.
923 calories
84% fat / 85%
13% protein / 15%
3% carbs / 0%
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