Ilyka Damen

Days 1 and 2: Train Going Backwards

The Shangri-La Diet, Day 1:

I begin from a baseline weight of 1n6, where "n" is some nonzero digit that is none of your business. Don't worry; if it changes up I will note it "p" and if it changes down I will note it "m," etc.

We may be getting to "p" a whole heckuva lot sooner than anticipated. But let's begin at the beginning:

"Piece of cake," I tell the boyfriend after my first shot of 2 tablespoons of canola oil Thursday afternoon. "I don't know what all those people are so grossed out for. It's not like it has any flavor."

"I can't believe you just did that," he replies.

"Seriously, it's nothing."

"It's OIL."

"It's still easier going down than Jack Daniels."

The only thing I object to is the oily film over my teeth and gums. I fight off a powerful urge to brush my teeth. The minute my hour's up, I run for the bathroom to Listerine, floss, and brush.

I suffer none of the, ah, unpleasant gastrointestinal side effects some oil imbibers are reporting. This is easy, I think. Too easy?

I also note a disinclination to snack throughout the evening, and I eat only half as much chicken saag for dinner as I normally would. It's not that the chicken saag doesn't taste fabulous; it does. I just feel full halfway through.

Yay! I think. It's working already!

"By the way," I ask the boyfriend later, "If you go to the store tomorrow, could you pick us up some extra-light olive oil? Extra-light, not extra-virgin. I think maybe I'd rather shoot that than canola."

"You're insane," my boyfriend mutters, but he puts it on the grocery list all the same.

Day 1 ends peacefully and painlessly.

The Shangri-La Diet, Day 2:

The scale reads 1n7. Up a pound! Well, I didn't work out yesterday. I'll do it today.

For breakfast I am not especially hungry; I defer it a couple of hours and then decide I don't want anything breakfasty after all. I have a green salad dressed in vinaigrette with cucumber, celery, mushrooms, bell pepper, and hardboiled egg just before work.

Then I do something stupid: I decide, a couple of hours later, to begin my 2-hour "nothing by mouth but water" window. In the middle of it, I take 3 tablespoons of canola, the boyfriend having not yet procured the extra-light olive oil.

And then, with only 15 minutes left of my 2 hours, I decide to go work out.

Say it with me, now: "Ilyka, you hypoglycemia-courting moron."

In a completely expected turn of events, working out feels HORRIBLE. My legs feel like lead. I get shin splints 15 minutes into the treadmill routine. I break off to do some weights; it feels like I am lifting twice as much as I actually am. Back to the treadmill, where I last only another 5 minutes before returning to the weights. Trying to do the treadmill feels like moving through quicksand. I cycle between the weights and the treadmill a couple more times before finally giving up. It is, hands down, the worst workout of my entire life.

Back at the apartment, I pour myself an Orange Crush and midway through sipping it, realize that I'm totally going to barf.

I make it to the bathroom, where I vomit violently for at least a quarter of an hour. Every time I try to assess whether the vomiting is finally done, my body answers in the negative.

Me: "Hey . . . ah, are we done? Because we're not actually throwing up anything of substance, here, you know? It seems to be mostly water. Yeah, kind of orangey water?"

Body: "Nah, think I'm gonna ride this train a little longer, actually."

Me: "But I'm . . . . I'm tired of being hunched over the toilet."

Body: "Yeah, listen, I've been meaning to tell you--it's like, you don't get a vote? Not a democracy here. Nope."

Me: "But--"

Body: "And--FIRE!"

The boyfriend, meanwhile, is off at the store. At the store, BUYING MORE OIL.

When the vomiting finally concludes I realize that I am starving. I lay waste to the pantry, eating a plate of buttered saltines, a can of Campbell's Split Pea with Ham and Bacon, and three, count them, THREE homemade chocolate chip cookies (Nestle's Toll House recipe, if you have to know).

I am extremely frustrated, once I'm done eating, to realize that I am still ravenously hungry. I could eat everything I just ate all over again. So when the boyfriend returns from the store I knock him down to get to a bag of sourdough pretzels peeking out from one of the grocery bags. I then eat WAY, WAY TOO MANY OF THEM. Once my mouth's no longer full, I tell him all about the vomiting. He is, of course, fascinated.

"I don't know about all this," I conclude. "I mean yes, it was my own stupid fault for trying to work out on an empty stomach, or I mean, a stomach that was empty except for 3 tablespoons of canola oil, okay, that was my bad--but you know, I've worked out on an empty stomach before and it never led to all that vomiting and all this EATING. I'll bet you I've consumed twice as many calories today as I normally do."

And lo, this morning the scale bore me out:

1n9.

I'm up THREE POUNDS. I am starting to feel like Rachel McAdams' character in Mean Girls, when she's all trying to lose weight by eating 5000-calorie Scandinavian nutrition bars.

And today, Day 3? It's time to reconsider the sugar water. Because if you even say "oil" to me, I will punch you in the face. Yes, over the internet. Really.

Don't try me.

Shangri-La: The Things I Do for Content

Is this blog dead yet? No, only languishing.

So I'm clicking around last night and I encounter mention of this thing, you may have heard of it, this so-called "Shangri-La Diet." You've got to love a fad diet named that honestly, after a place too good to be true.

As nearly as I can tell, the deal with the Shangri-La is that for one 2-hour window each day, you:

Take nothing by mouth (that includes cigarettes, Hubris; dude, I KNOW) except water. You don't even brush your teeth.

Oh, and in the middle of that 2-hour window, the very middle, you down 2-4 tablespoonfuls of flavorless vegetable oil, i.e, canola or extra-light olive oil, STRAIGHT; OR, you can have a solution of sugar water instead. Don't ask me what the proportions are on the sugar water because, and I know you will not believe me but it's true, I actually think sugar water sounds more disgusting to drink than straight vegetable oil. No, I don't know what's wrong with me either.

But other than that, you just eat whatever. If you can stand to, I mean, after shooting plain vegetable oil down your gullet.

So I was reading about this whole thing, and I was all "oh please now I've seen everything and besides how disgusting IS that," and that might/should have been the end of it; except then I read this tantrum over at BlogCritics by some raving lunatic who's opposed to the whole thing because, and I believe this is an accurate summary, sugar is BAD and only DIETS THAT RESTRICT SUGAR can EVER EVER WORK, for ANYONE, it's TRUE, JESUS or Siddhartha or somebody TOLD IT TO HER THUS in a vision, AMEN.

My goodness but I just can't stand me a zealot.

So even the tiniest chance that my posting this might set her off all over again--well. It is too irresistible to pass up. And here's how I figure it:

I have nothing else to write about anyway.

I already do everything else they tell you to lose weight: Exercise? 4-5 days every week since being shamed on the Hike of Death, man. Eat more leafy green vegetables? I go through heads and heads of the stuff. Choose from a wide variety of foods? The only foods I absolutely, positively will not eat are bananas, raw fish/sushi, and seafood. Everything else normally considered edible is pretty much fair game. The world is my buffet. Avoid processed foods? Tough to do in the U.S., but I betcha I do a better job of it than you do, if only because, as a rule, processed food costs more.

There are 360 calories in 3 tablespoons of oil. An extra 360 calories a day sounds like a bad idea, until you figure that after drinking three tablespoons of straight vegetable oil, that grilled cheese sandwich you were thinking of fixing yourself probably doesn't sound so good anymore. A carrot stick, now, that would be fabulous.

Besides, it is too late to talk me out of it because (a) I only intend to do it for 2 weeks, unless of course it works and then okay, maybe 4, TOPS; and (b) I have already done a couple of days, HA, you're too late, too late I tell you!

More about Days 1 and 2 later. Now, now I must go to do the typing that pays the bills (which is not this typing).