One thing about fair week is, we eat a lot of concession stand food. Hamburgers, hotdogs, french fries, and other greasy, cheesy vittles. It becomes like survival food. It is nearly impossible to cook a meal during all of the commotion and, most of the time, you're stuck at the fair grounds and have to eat something. What do we eat to stay alive today? Frito chili pie and peanut M&M's? Yes, I think so. The last night we were there, Taylor got a funnel cake, ate two bites and then handed it to me. I took a few bites, shared it with others around me and then most of it got thrown away. It is sad but there is only so much funnel cake a person can eat before they go into insulin shock.
Even though the week was hectic, I managed to work out several days and even fasted a few evenings. For some reason, I've not been ultra hungry in the evenings (which is the worst time to dump a bunch of food in your belly anyway) so I've been passing on the evening meal. This makes me want a big breakfast, which is great, and gets my metabolism going strong for the day. The scale is down to 181, but I can't seem to make my weight-loss-ticker reflect this. My next victory will be when the line falls below 180. There is something about the number ticking into a different unit of ten. Even when our age goes from 39 to 40, or 49 to 50...we're in a different decade and the number means something profound to us in this culture. I'm very much looking forward to 179 and on down from there.
The most amazing news is that, after suffering through the blazing, scorching hot month of August and a whole week of sweating at the fair, the air outside has changed to cool, dry, heavenly breezes. My windows are open, the leaves in the trees are rustling, the birds are rejoicing, wind-chimes are singing...it's quite, it's peaceful, I'm happy. It's breathtakingly lovely out there and I'm going to find every excuse to be out in it.