About a month ago, the strangest thing happened. I forgot to eat—like, the entire day. The last time that happened was the twelfth of never. Even more bizarre? It was damn near 8 p.m. before I noticed the tiniest bit of rumbling in my stomach. That particular day I had been busy from the minute I got up. The only sustenance I had—and I use that term loosely—involved slamming a Flat White from Starbucks mid-morning between meetings.
Keep in mind—you’re talking to a boy who wondered what he was going to eat for dinner while he was eating lunch. The old me (read that: a walking insulin commercial) was always wolfing down food filled with starches and sugars—which kept me “full” for exactly 22-24 minutes before I was feeling hungry again. To go without a meal was unheard of. Hell, to go without snacks was damn near impossible. (True story: to this day I still miss Flaming Hot Cheetos. Hey, the heart wants what the heart wants.)
Somewhere over the course of my no sugar/no sweeteners/no starches/no gluten diet this year, my body required less and less intake. It was so subtle, I didn’t even notice it was happening. Veggies, good fats and heavy-duty proteins started keeping me both full and energized. Cravings went kaput. I can’t remember the last time I had the dreaded 3 p.m. slump—you know, the one that requires a Coke and Snickers bar in order to rally.
We’re ten months into this dietary experiment and let me tell you, it’s no longer a constant struggle to avoid/resist cheating. Old me was forever lethargic and starving—except I was always putting in the wrong kind of fuel. The new me now only eats when I’m hungry which—shocking!—borders on infrequently. As a proud fat kid, that’s sort of a revolutionary concept.
When I was across the pond in England for a couple weeks recently, I had to make a concerted effort to avoid sugar. Everything in Britain is one giant starch-tastic, gluten-laden bomb. I stuck to my guns and continued on my meat, cheese, veggie (lather, rinse, repeat) brigade. (Several times though I had to cross the street to avoid any whiff of Greggs Bakeries which are on every $%*@!* street corner in the U.K. They are my siren smell, er, song.)
The last time I wrote an update about my year-long diet was a bit over the six-month mark and I was still on the strugglebus. Now, it would appear victory is in my crosshairs. And if my mind/body/spirit isn’t ravenous 24/7 anymore—well, that’s just one less thing I have to worry about, yes?