Shortly after Christmas last year, I started to notice that the excessive celebrations were starting to catch up to me. I was feeling sluggish, and it was much easier to slide into yoga pants than attempt to suck it all in and force myself into jeans.
I saw some pictures from a birthday party in early February and realized that not only was I feeling like crap, but I was looking like it too. It was time to take action.
I've done Clean before, but I really started hating and resenting shakes and knew I couldn't do that again. I looked into a couple of different programs to spark my healthier eating and even recruited a couple of friends.
In the process I read a million different articles and studies. I looked carefully at what I'd been consuming and came to a very clear solution. I needed to cut out whites. Primarily flour and sugar. I know the old saying that pretty much anything in moderation is good, but I knew that wouldn't do the trick. I had to go cold turkey.
You have no idea how much I love bread. Specifically sourdough bread. Every time I was at the grocery store and I happened to drift past the bakery, the bread would draw me in like prey on a fisherman's pole. If it was still warm, then forgetaboutit. I'd rush to the checkout and start tearing pieces off like a prisoner before I'd even get to the car. By the time I arrived home (I only live a couple miles from the grocer), almost all of the loaf would be ripped apart and consumed.
If I left the remains on the countertop, inevitably someone would walk by and say, "What the heck happened to the bread?!?" I'd just shrug and reply, "Don't know. Weird."
Oh sourdough bread I love you so.
To allow myself a moderate amount of bread would be like telling a recovering alcoholic it would be ok to have a drink or two a day. Or telling an ex-smoker it would be just fine to have a cigarette every once in a while. The answer was clear.
I needed to break up with bread.
I've currently been white flour and sugar-reduced for three months. I've had two relapses, but both were mini-vacations and I was able to stabilize shortly afterwards. I'm down eight pounds and although my energy level hasn't been restored to how I was 20 years ago, I can usually get out of a chair without moaning now.
Everyone says that when you cut out something you love, but is essentially bad for you, eventually lose a taste for it.
Lies. All lies. I'd rip through a loaf of sourdough in a heartbeat. I'm also sure I would develop a deep relationship with every single bite. However I'm also positive I'd revert right back to that prisoner on a diet of bread and water.
Instead of ripping into that loaf, I am choosing to practice a strength that up until this point, I've never been able to master. I also need to apologize to all the local bakers for affecting their recent loss in profits - I hope all your surplus bread I'm not purchasing is going toward someone in need as well as someone that has more self control than myself.
I still love you bread. Just know it's me, not you.
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