As I type an amazing sound comes from the corner of my hotel room. The faint hints of a dragon’s smokey breath reflect off the wooden cabinet, only to be met with the aural effect of paper crumbling. If I could forget the true source of the sound I’d close my eyes and imagine a horrible beast in my hotel room, but tonight the imagination is feeling tired and the reality of my 11 PM diet sets in.

After nearly fainting through a ninety minute workout I’m waiting for my late night oatmeal to brew in the hotel room’s individual Starbucks machine. The oatmeal, still “cooking” while I start on the yogurt, milk, and fruit sitting on my desk, is a new late night ritual for my travels away.

My new ritual is part of a personal test I’m experiencing during my first stay ever in Texas. From my hotel room I see highways leading to novel fast food stops, steak houses, and proper restaurants with names foreign to my city self. Yet, after spending months living in the excesses of the real city, I decided to see if I could still hold back for a few days and stick to a good workout and food routine.

The dragon in the corner of my room is quiet, and the fog of heat rising off the oatmeal is much less menacing than the sounds of its transformation. No steak dinner today, and I feel tougher for resisting it.