Today I’m starting the South Beach Diet.
And I know, I’m not supposed to use the word "diet"; it’s a "lifestyle change". Whatever.
And if I don’t sound overly enthusiastic, it’s just the thought of giving up potatoes that has me grieving a little. I KNOW it’s the right thing to do–I’ve read all the science behind it. I can feel in my own body that I’m having blood sugar issues (I’m at a higher risk for type-2 diabetes after having gestational diabetes during pregnancy). I’m convinced this is a healthy way for all of us–my whole family–to begin eating. It’s not even about losing weight anymore. It’s about being healthy.
But oh, how I’ll miss all those deliciously unhealthy carbs.
My ever-faithful friend Chilihead (a faithful South Beach devotee) went with me to the grocery store yesterday and helped me navigate the tricky world of good carbs/bad carbs. And then, like any good friend would do, she accompanied me for a "bad-carb-farewell lunch" at the Finest Eating Establishment In America:
We laughed and wished for a camera to record our table piled high with carb-o-liciousness: quesadillas, tacos, nachos, churros and…yes, they’re for real….cheesecake chimichangas. Ecstasy, I tell you.
And I ate so many carbs I had to come home and take a nap afterwards.
But I’m armed now, with my whole grains and my lean protein and my nuts and my dining-out guide. And I even promise not to talk about it too much, despite the fact that I will likely be cranky and tired as I go through carb-detox. If, for the next couple of weeks, my writing is flighty and disconnected (or perhaps I should say, "more flighty and disconnected than it already is"), you’ll know why.
I just really want a cracker.