A life without bread is no life at all

It’s noon on a muggy June day and I’m struggling.  I have been in this lonely place for almost 16 hours.

It’s hard now for me to understand why I’m doing this.  If I’m honest I’ve lost sight of my original reasonings, it seems like insanity, but I know that that’s the hunger talking. 

I woke this morning with the taste of cheese toasties on my lips.  It was, of course, a mirage, a cruel trick that my subconscious played.  It appears that even I'm against me.

You probably can’t begin to fathom making the decision to lose bread from your diet but following an excessive consumption of the carb-orific white stuff I was spent.

WHAT THE--?  Oh, I thought I saw a bear but it was just my hair.  I'm weak and I'm delirious.  It's not safe here.

With the onset of summer it’s only going to get harder – burgers, picnics, BBQs – it all seems so pointless without a finger roll or a seeded bap.

When I started this I had no idea of the danger I was putting myself in, perhaps I was naïve, perhaps I  was stupid but until you’re in it there’s no way of anticipating the terror that comes with it

My ordeal is likely to leave me malnourished, exhausted and possibly frostbitten. 

I’m wandering alone through the wilderness and I’m lost, my sports socks are showing above my heeled ankle boots.

I didn’t want you to see me like this.

Perhaps this harrowing ordeal is a testament to bravery and survival, perhaps it’s just vain whimsy but with only a bag of crisps and a 1.5 litre bottle of evian I’m determined to make it through this.  It’s not going to be an easy ride and I may waiver in my determination but I’ll do this.  I’ll do it for you.