Lance Armstrong recently won his 7th straight Tour De France, even more remarkable – as he has only one testicle. It recently came to my attention that in order for him to complete stages of Le Tour, he eats upto 7000 calories a day.
Yesterday, I imagine I came very close to that.
It was one of my mates’ 21st Birthday, a day thing incorporating a barbecue, a quality buffet, the first day of the premiership and a pub crawl around Llandudno. I had been so so good recently, watching what I eat, regular exercise (including now – running. It’s so much more fun than on a treadmill, though when I go back to Liverpool I don’t fancy running down some streets). The results were beginning to show as well: down to under 14.5 stone, and the magic (and I do mean magic) 14 stone mark approaching, I thought that I could live life as a healthy looking bloke. I was expecting to go to Manchester with Sarah on Thursday and at best her not recognising the new, slimmer me.
Yesterday kind of put a stop to that. The barbecue was gorgeous and we were ushered back for seconds, the food was plentiful and was all nice, with the nicest onion badji’s I’ve ever had.
Of course, no 21st would be complete without a copious supply of alcohol, and I had my fair share, the worst was hitting the wall following the Desperados: shot of tequila in a bottle of lager. After that, the night gets a bit hazy. Certain things stick out in my mind from the night, and I remember having a good time. Broadway was rammed as ever, and I remember experiencing the old human pinball effect. Either way, although it was a fairly cheap night out, my waistline is paying for it, as I feel very, very bloated.
The diet starts again tomorrow.