A few weeks ago, I let my gym membership lapse. I was short on cash, and my gym, being sort of a mom-and-pop operation, won’t let you sign up for multiple months at a time (thus taking advantage of lower per-month dues) unless you pay up front for all those months. So I went about a month without a gym visit while I saved up the flow to pay for a six-week membership.

At about the same time, I finished a round of antibiotics that had forced me to abstain from all alcohol. Concurrently, I discovered Trader Joe’s crystalized ginger. The triumvirate of being able to once again drink alcohol, the addition of tons of sugar to my regular eating routine, and lazy days of very little physical activity worked to plateau my diet. I had lost about twelve pounds, but I couldn’t make the scale budge any more, despite my dedication to all things cow and avoidance of eating anything bad.

So I have been hitting the gym hard the past two weeks, trying to ease up on the wine, and … well, I can’t give up the ginger now. I’m addicted, OK. I know that eventually, in a couple of weeks or so, I’ll start to see the recommitment in my body again. But in the meantime, I’m stuck at twelve pounds and no longer excited about what felt like a great acheivement a month ago.

In the meantime, I have to figure out how to feel OK about myself. Particularly this weekend, as we will be spending it in Sunriver with some friends at a house with a hot tub. Two of these friends are hot, hot, skinny women. Another is a hot, hot guy. (Another is a three year old; I’m not so much worried about her.) So you can see the kind of uphill climb I’m attempting.

As I’ve gone through this week with this thought never far from the front burner of my mind, I’ve been working at my old office in Bellevue. On Wednesday morning, to make amends for all the construction they’ve been doing in the building, the landlords provided a free latte cart in the lobby. I gave up coffee when I started this diet, but … hey… they had soy milk and, after all, it was FREE. Who could pass that up? So I chose to imbibe and savored the silky goodness of a decaf, soy, vanilla latte.

Two hours later, I wanted to kill myself. I could feel the coffee burning a hole in my stomach. It hurt so bad, I couldn’t even eat TJ’s ginger. This lasted for the rest of the day. I vowed then and there to stick with my green tea lattes.

This morning, I got to work and opened my email to find a collection of photos a friend had taken earlier in the week. There I was, in the background of one, huge butt and everything. 30 seconds later, when my officemate asked if I wanted Starbucks, I thought about my enormous ass, the latte-induced stomach ache that precluded me from eating for several hours, and the paycheck that just deposited itself in my bank account this morning.

So here I sit, decaf, soy, vanilla latte in hand. Basking in its goodness now, anticipating the pain it will bring in an hour or so. Relishing the idea of not being able to eat until dinnertime. Smiling at the thought of donning a bathing suit tomorrow night with an ever-so-slightly smaller bum.

It’s not a perfect diet, but if it works…

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