Officially canning it
No show in November. I decided Saturday.

Saying "this isn't fun any more" doesn't even begin to convey the degree of not-funness this project had achieved. There I was, putting all of my time, energy and life into something that was accomplishing very few results, feeling like a horrible, lousy failure every single morning, doing mostly everything right and getting jack-all for it -- it was an exercise in frustration and futility.

On Saturday, I went to the annual Trevelyan Memorial Picnic hosted by The Company of Cavalier Gentlemen, a seventeenth century Royalist recreation society. I was a gypsy (I absolutely must make myself a seventeenth century gown; I've been to a few of these events now, and I'm embarrassed by my anyhow conglomerations of vaguely-romantic non-period clothing). My food, of course, was much better than my clothing; I made a nice authentic seed-cake and a batch of mince-tarts -- mincemeat, that is. I used vegetarian ground round, though (mostly because the picnic is outside, and I don't like the thought of genuine meat products sitting about for any longer than necessary in the hot sun -- authentic food-poisoning is taking things a bit too far, I think).

Having made my momentous decision, I ate of the authentic food, too. And yesterday, I had a healthy breakfast, and then lived most of the rest of the day on chocolate buttercream, cake trimmings and ganache.

But that will not be the lasting pattern. I'll carry on with the workout routine, since it seems to be effective, and try to eat pretty much within decent parameters of healthy proteins and carbs, and a dash of John Berardi's Massive Eating. I'd still like to get my bodyfat down a bit more, and muscle up, but enough with this killing contest goal.