going from fatkins to atkins

A couple of weeks ago, Phil floated the idea of going on a low-carb meal plan until we leave on vacation.


Then, in a moment of weakness, I reluctantly agreed.

So we (we = I) spent the weekend researching low carb diets and Pintering low-carb recipes that made me not want to cry at the whole cauliflower-ness of them.  We went grocery shopping and loaded up on everything we might need to help us stick with this crazy plan.



The first couple of days weren’t too bad – if you ignore the fact that I would have gladly cracked someone over the head with a lead pipe for a donut – we had a solid meal plan filled with interesting and tasty (enough) recipes, we had sugar-free jello and almonds to cover the sweet and salty aspects of the snack spectrum and we had enough eggs to make hollandaise sauce for eery meal.

We were prepared.

But then came the headaches. And the dizziness. And the wanting to jump through the tv whenever an ad for Cheetos came on.  And there was that pesky wanting-to-murder-someone-for-a-donut thing.

It was bad.

I was jonesing for a sugar fix and I wasn’t sure I would make it out the other side.

But then, something happened…I made it through and I was…fine. I wasn’t hungry all the time because the food I was eating was heavy, and fatty and rich enough to keep me full.  I could watch someone eat a sandwich or chips or a slice of cake and not want to rip it out of their hands. I didn’t even really want to snack because…well because I had no interest in snacking on celery, and what the fuck else is there snack on that doesn’t contain carbs? I feel less sluggish with more get-up-and-go and we pretty much stopped farting, which was a side effect that I was  not expecting, but welcomed with open arms.

Oh yeah, and I lost 10 pounds in the first week!



I could endure just about anything with results like that.

Then the weight loss just stopped. And then I started to get nauseous with every single meal. And did I mention how the weight loss just stopped?

It’s amazing how something can be tolerated when you’re seeing results, but the minute those results are no longer obvious you just want to eat the entire bag of peanut butter-chocolate chip brownies that are stashed in your freezer.  No?  Just me, then?

As much as I wanted to give up, I persevered and after 3 days of nausea every time I set a plate of food in front of me, it passed.


But now our little experiment is coming to an end, and after 2 weeks and 11 pounds, we are starting to reintroduce some carbs into our diet (before heading to Chicago, the land of deep dish pizza and chocolate cake milkshakes).  It was an interesting and useful undertaking, but I don’t think I could be a low-carb lifer.

For better or worse, I am an emotional eater.

I understand the physiology of eating fewer carbs, but the psychology of it is just too strong for me. I grew up on bread; its warm and comforting, like a hug from my Mom.  Whether it’s just the sugar toying with the nerve endings in my brain, or it powerfully recalls loving memories from my past, carbs just make me happy.

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