A couple months ago I started griping to my wife about my protruding belly (the result, no doubt of a life of unfettered access to mexican food, light beer and fine cheese.)
She suggested I do her diet-from-hell with her.
So here I am, day 4, without caffeine, alcohol, dairy, wheat, sugar, beef or corn.
What have I done?
It's amazing - when I stop to examine it - just how much liquid I consume on a daily basis: 4-6 cups of coffee, 1-2 beers, an iced tea here, a diet coke there. Well this week it's been water. A little water here? Some there. Some more here.
I haven't peed like this since my wife was pregnant. (The last time I behaved as sympathetically).
People said without caffeine my head would explode. Not true. It's my bladder that's in danger of rupturing from the average of a gallon of water a day I'm running through this engine.
People thought the lack of alcohol might make me irritable. Not true. What makes me irritable is sitting 10 feet from a tableau of cheese, sausage and crackers thoughtfully delivered by a well-meaning editorial producer.
I do feel better. I'm not sure I attribute it to the diet. Or the obligatory exercise. And I'm certainly not feeling any better about my belly. I feel better about the fact that I'm capable of making a change that drastic and sticking to it.
Change is hard. Especially left-hand, middle of the highway, no-signal, change. And it's funny how close to the rut you are - all the time: I'm a frosty beer away from riding my two-wheel diet into the perverbial ditch (filled with steamy enchiladas, venti skim-milk lattes and plates full of brie.