Bottled Crystal Light seems to be the closest thing available to a sugar-free, dextrin-free, aspartame-free, saccharin-free source of the sweetener sucralose. Splenda in packet form has maltodextrin to add volume and create a synergistic effect. In bottled Crystal Light, the sucralose is instead complemented with acesulfame potassium, also carbohydrate-free. Upshot: 2 Strawberry Kiwi Crystal Light + 1 lemon juice + 5 water = Delicious pseudo-lemonade. Yeah, there's mixing involved. Straight non-lemonade Crystal Light tends to be a little heavy and not acidic enough, and that makes it perfect for use as a sweetener instead of a drink in and of itself. Strawberry Kiwi is decent for the purpose, but Raspberry Ice is perfect—it's ridiculously sweet and has almost no tartness. Meanwhile, water and lemon juice are both virtually free of sugar [edit: Lemon juice contains about 15g of non-fiber carbohydrate per cup, but who would use a cup at a time? 2006 Feb 24 1417 -0500], and tend to be much cheaper. This is of some importance; bottled Crystal Light is a little on the expensive side for a beverage, but its price is more tolerable when it is considered as a sweetener.

(Powdered Crystal Light is sweetened with aspartame, which sucks.)

My dinner tonight was a salad made out of two beef franks sliced into pieces and sautéd in olive oil with minced garlic and onion and other green stuff labeled "Italian Seasoning"—all told, it was more or less a vinaigrette without the vinegar—until everything was slightly browner than initially. Once I got the meat and oil back down from the kitchen on the second floor to my room on the first, I added a pre-packaged romaine salad mix and some shredded cheddar, and doused it all with cider vinegar. The result was more delicious than one would typically sign on for with a hot-dog-based meal.

I have no idea why I felt like saying all this. But I'm down to 247 pounds (245 before dinner). 18 days ago, I logged my weight as ten pounds more than this. 38 days ago, after a ridiculous but intentional binge intended to precede my first workout, the figure was about twenty more than now.

A few days ago, Marina, a castmate, asked me in jest if I was "manorexic". The answer is no—I'm just eating really, really strange stuff and exercising an hour every day, averaging about 630 kcal a go. A spreadsheet tells me I'm right on my set schedule to be down to 210 by commencement.

I'm also doing a fairly good job trying to break the nail-biting habit.

I don't know where the motivation for any of this is coming from. Why not? has never been particularly effective for me, and yet right this second it seems to be working. And then there's the old line from Fight Club, "Self-improvement is masturbation, not self-destruction." That's been true for me before, but how true it is tends to be a function of how much of the effect I notice. The fact that Marina and Roxy noticed something was up indicates that what I'm doing is probably working. But I see myself in the mirror regularly, and any change that isn't instant is something I get used to before I notice. Of course, today I stood there and stuck my gut out, and I could reasonably believe that it seemed to stick out a little less than last time I tried to do the same. And at least one pair of pants that was getting tight seems to be returning to a less ridiculous-looking fit.

And now I think back to how all this started. I saw a couple of pictures of myself from over the summer. A little after high school, I was at my peak of physical form; at the low point I'd actually gotten down to 199, and it showed. But pictures of me from this summer's visit to Michigan and to the shore of Lake Michigan were images of a middle-aged man with fewer wrinkles and marginally more stylish attire. I'd regressed, and that bugged me.

It still bugs me. Because here I am, all of 23 years old, almost done with college, nearly ready just to start my real life as a young, relatively financially-unencumbered professional—the type that tends to be in high demand by intellectual young ladies—and there I was on camera, already looking like I was at the end of that phase, sloppy gut, love handles, probably only a moderate amount of adipose tissue away from what might be considered a roll.

There was a mind-over-matter approach in play that last semester of high school, and it was effective. Between then and now, there were pieces of that puzzle that got lost, and I slipped. But it appears that I have them back, at least for the time being.

I intend to make the most of it.