Our first Whole30 was completed in May of this year. It was good. Really good. Eye opening. Body rejuvenating. Priority making. We bumped and whined our way through the first 15 days and then hit smoooooth sailing. So smooth we opted for 45 days. 45 became 60. And, 60 became 75.
Day 76 was Mother’s Day. My day. A serendipitous trip up Mount Baker and a stop at the never-to-disappoint Wake N’ Bakery was in order. I settled myself down with a snickerdoodle cookie. I savored every bite. I felt the change in taste shift and when it had lost its luster I pushed it away. My sugar dragon was right where it needed to be: in my control.
In hindsight, we failed at completing the given task. We pulled the training wheels and said goodbye to our Whole30 on a whim. We committed to 30 days and did that. We committed to 60 and did that. But then we just sort of rode the waves and kept following the rules until the temptation was there. The snickerdoodle. On day 75, we didn’t say “we are done! We did it!”. But on day 76, we said “In this place at this time with these treats, we are now done.”
Four months later and we are bloated. We are lethargic. Our bodies clearly scream in rebellion when fueled with grains of any kind. We feel like crap.
It was time for Round 2.
Our confidence was bulging.
We have done 75 days. We have been through the highs and lows. We know what sugar withdrawals feel like. We know how good we can feel.
Ten days in and we made the massively erroneous assumption that ten days is as good as thirty. It’s not. Not in anyway.
It all fell apart with a moo wich. A treat so awesome you can only get it one week a year at our county fair. A lopsided scoop of rich vanilla ice cream sandwiched between two homemade soft and chewy chocolate chip cookies. They are epic. They are a once a year treat.
Except when there are leftover moo wiches being sold at the local dairy in September.
I ordered the girls’ ice cream. I hesitated. I waited. I looked to Thor for confirmation and tempted the sugar dragon. I made the conscious choice to purchase the moo wich. And, I made the second fully conscious decision to eat the moo wich.
I was aware in the moment and still chose temptation.
Ten days is not nearly enough to be ready to play with fire.
Oh, how the dragon came raging back. I have fallen hard. Pizza? Yes, I’ll have some. Pumpkin Jo Jo’s from Trader Joes? I’ve got my 1/4 of the box eaten. Maybe more. But who’s counting? Fruit roll ups made of chemical concoctions? You betcha! Gut ache enough to say no? Obviously not.
I feel like crap. Mentally my game is weak and my body is not physically happy.
The emotional turmoil of the last week is screaming to be packed, hugged and held with sugar, chocolate, butter and pie crust. Carrots and broccoli don’t offer me the same solace.
I will never again doubt the mind game food plays. The triggers that pull and push. The chemicals that set the reaction in motion.
It’s not a fool’s game for the faint of heart.
I’m won’t lose the war but I lost this battle in a ball of flames. All for the love of a moo wich.