I could taste my favorite burger as I licked the blood from my thumb, the perfectly done patty - medium rare, always medium rare, so the blood drips out with every bite. The soft bun, lettuce, pickle and tomato and the cheddar cheese on top. My friends and I swear by it as one of the best in NYC, from a place just around the corner from me in Brooklyn. Our place has luckily has stayed off the top ten tourists lists that so often plague our favorite local spots. I've wanted this burger since I started dieting three weeks ago. The diet has been working, and I've felt better than ever I've dropped past barrier after barrier - I'm down to 168 pounds and now only 8 pounds from my target weight - another big step on my journey back to fitness. But it feels like my body doesn't want to get me there.
That blood I was tasting was my own.
Only seconds earlier I had drifted off while preparing my evening meal and for the first time in my life cut the tip of a finger off - a chunk of the end of my thumb. Earlier in the day my left elbow had flared up, a historic problem linked to my back and my finger was still sore from the weekend. Ultimately I am putting the elbow and finger down to my body settling back into its climbing mode, the cut finger down to needing that damn burger. For the first time in my life I feel like I'm feeling the effects of age, I'm only in my mid thirties which doesn't seem old to me - but if you look at sportsmen its substantially older than most athletes in their prime. The journey back to fitness seems like a journey up a steep ridge, with a precipice of injury on either side.
Luckily this week to make that journey less intimidating I bring a small amount of carbs back into the diet. Perhaps its time for that burger, everybody needs a treat once in a while...