So I got this text message last night from Jaloy, my new team leader in the Paleo Challenge:
“[Our team] will not have a cheat day for week 6 and cheats for carbs, processed food, alcohol shall incur -3 [points]. We gained two paleo bombs care of team 7 and some other team. [Our] strategy [shall be to earn points through doing the WODs]. [Let’s make up for the bombs through quantity of workouts and, please, no more cheating.] Guys, we’re leading and they think we would be pressured. Let’s show them!”*
… while I was getting dressed to go to a Johnnie Walker party (featuring two-time F1 world champ, Mika Hakkinen, FYI). Gedemwit.
Mika Hakkinen is Johnnie Walker’s Responsible Drinking ambassador. Last night was the night for that, it seems. (Internet file photo.)
I think Jaloy failed to mention the other Paleo bomb that is me, care of the Paleo Challenge organizers. Doh! I finally went over the past e-mails from RJ and, true enough, Team 3 is – or was – firmly in the lead. According to RJ, we earned the title “Paleo Slacker of the Week” for collectively cheating 12 times last week. That was when they added my scores to Team 3 and I think we can safely say that 10 of those 12 cheats belong to me.
The organizers are clearly trying to shame me into getting it together. And it’s working.
I mean, good gosh, I’ve never seen such total dedication to winning… I have no idea what we’re supposed to win. Tupperware? A house and lot? I suppose it’s just, well, winning. And my team’s lofty aspirations shouldn’t be thwarted by some deadbeat with no clear identifiable goal except to have fun.
Who knows, but I’m not one to judge nor stand in any body’s way. (Internet file photo.)
So… My Saturday night was comprised of fizzy water and tasteless calamares rings with the batter peeled off. (It was either that or steamed, buttered vegetables and I wasn’t about to order vegetables at a pub.)
It’s the last six days of the challenge. I’ve gone through seven days of raw food, I did the ten-day Vipassana course twice, and I’ve fasted in Thailand four times. Surely, I can suck it up and get my eight hours of sleep, do the WODs (at least until I leave) and commit to a strict Paleo diet for the next six days.
Well, while it is true that I did all that, I was also in lock-down while doing it. I wasn’t surrounded by alcohol-guzzling, carb-loving friends. Last night, at Draft, one of my friends was drinking a WHOLE PITCHER of beer BY HIMSELF. It was his FOURTH PITCHER. Another one kept wanting to spike my soda water with vodka and another kept tempting me with spanakopitas. “They’re so good! And that’s just filo pastry, that’s nothing!”
“Just drink. Nobody has to know.”
I wonder if these clowns were around during the last temptation of Christ.
“Yeah, but I’ll know,” I said. And this is not exactly how I want to launch my career as a fiction writer.
I still had a good time… But, yeah. It blows.
Six days.
Counting down.
Nope, this was definitely not me last night.
*Edited from the original Taglish (Tagalog + English).