Day 24

And thus, it endeth.

Tonight, I broke my streak.  I ate sugar.  In the form of ice cream.  A not small amount of ice cream.

And how do I feel?

Really good.

But Sophie, you say, why does defeat feel good?  Why aren't you riddled with guilt at the thought that you couldn't go a measly 30 days without eating sugar?  You cracked!  Don't you care?

Well, think of it this way:

Right now, I'm at Day 24. The last time I posted anything was Day 9, and Day 9's post wasn't even about the struggle of my daily routine.  That says something.  It says that after the first 5 days, cutting sugar out of my life wasn't all that hard.  It didn't take enormous amounts of willpower, and I didn't have to throw out all of the sugar in my house lest I be tempted.  In fact, there is still copious amounts of chocolate on the counter, and (more) ice cream in the fridge.

And right now, I'm not dying to eat it all simply because I had some.  And I know that I'm not going to wake up tomorrow morning and suddenly have french toast with maple syrup for breakfast, a cookie for lunch, and cupcakes for dinner.

The fact of the matter is, I feel good because I won.  I am no longer addicted to sugar.  I am no longer craving diet cokes, or cokes at all for that matter, even when I ride.  I eat real food, all day, everyday.  I am once again in control of my diet.

Even tonight's transgression isn't truly all painted black.  Story: I went out for what was intended to be an 80 miler with 2 Bonk Breakers (I ran out of PB/J and BBs are about the closest thing you can get), and the intention of stopping for a banana at a gas station in the last 15 miles.  When a double flat ended the ride 63 miles in, I returned home in the car of a savior friend only to realize that it was 5:30, and all I had eaten the whole ride was 1 Bonk Breaker.

6:00 comes, and I get some sushi at Whole Foods for dinner, and afterwards I'm still hungry.  I mean, HUNGRY.

So I decided to think about what I had in the house (soy crisps, chicken salad, hummas, shrimp, etc) and eat the first thing my body wanted.   Turns out that thing was ice cream.

And now I feel much better.

Bottom line:  I'm looking at food, all food, as fuel.  And sugar is fuel.  In fact, sugar is such a potent fuel that it has to be treated with nuclear reactor care.  Eat it when you NEED it.

This experiment has allowed me to see and live that fact.

Does this mean I will gorge on cookies and brownies every time I ride bikes?  No.  I enjoyed my PB/J routine, and will keep at it.  Will I never allow myself to enjoy a treat?  You're funny.  Apple Pie a la Mode is still next on the Sugar menu this Thursday and I will accept it with a huge, "YES PLEASE!"

But until then, I can also truly and happily say, "No Thanks" to everything else.

Day Nine

One of the best things about this No Sugar trial is telling my story to others.  I'm known in the office as somewhat of a candy hound (I made "The Rounds" on a daily basis to cubicles where I knew baked goods or chocolates were sure to live), so when I said No Thanks to offered Mummy Cupcakes or Spooky Cookies, it raised more than one set of eyebrows.

After their "Why not?" I launched into my explanation of no sugar for 30 days.  

Responses ranged from the "I could never do that!" to "You have way more willpower than I do!" to "Wow, good for you!" to "I did that too, it really changed everything for me!"

But there was one surprising universal addendum after they spoke the above iterations:  

"So, have you lost any weight?"  

I which I reply that I'm not in this to lose weight, but to get healthier and more attuned to what I choose to put in my body.  "Oh, I know I know," they counter, "but you're probably going to lose weight too."

This reaction unsettles me a bit.  As someone who has battled through the obligatory cliched college aged eating disorder drama, I try not to worry anymore about the number on the scale. I don't even own one.  I don't have a full length mirror, which I admit can lead to some interesting fashion choices, but serves to keep me grounded on not linking an image in a piece of glass to self worth.  I don't know what I weighed before I started this experiment, and I don't know what I weigh now.  If I do anything it revolves around pants and how tight they are or are not around my waist. 

I wasn't expecting people to automatically think that I based my decision on a desire to diet.  And while I wouldn't be sad if I woke up next week and my waistband was in fact a little looser, my reaction would be rooted in knowing I'm getting healthier, not lighter. 

I'm sure part of it is working in an office where the men are even more fixated on pounds than the women, though for reasons of power/weight ratio dominance and not size 0 jeans.  Even though I'm sure some of the guys I work with could fit into size 0 jeans.  In fact, I've seen it first hand. 

But it's still unsettling that it appears to be the "go to" endgame.  And it's telling of how pervasive the thinner equals better mindset truly is, even when housed in innocent, seemingly innocuous comments.  

What am I working up to?  What's the big build up?  I'm not sure.  Maybe it's the fact that I feel like my own nonchalance about whether or not I'm "dieting" in the fashion magazine sense of the word is a signal that I've finally, once and for all beaten that old, cliched eating demon that I don't think ever truly started going away until I climbed on a bike.  

When people ask "Have you lost any weight?" I say "I don't know."  

What I leave off is the most important part:  I don't care.