I’m back on a diet. It happens to me every few years, when I groggily step on the dusty, cobwebbed scale after my morning ablutions and confront digitized proof that I’ve been slacking off.
I’m not a guy with a big frame, so when the scale registers that extra five, ten, or (gasp!) twenty pounds it’s readily apparent. At least to me and my special lady. Some people get skinny when life gets hard. They wither, grow frail, waif-like. Not me. I bloat: my stress, depression and anxieties in tight-buttoned display.
That extra ten or twenty pounds is simple, elegant evidence of low-grade suburban dissipation: Too many beers. Too many pizzas. Not enough physical and mental dream-chasing exertion.
Luckily, I’ve found a method that works for me: The Slow-Carb Diet. Tim Ferris — entrepreneur, efficiency guru, thought-leader — came up with it. You can read about it in his book, The 4-Hour Body, or find most of the details on his blog and various videos and podcasts.
Basically, it’s a simple framework for cutting out the indulgent stuff that’s left you round and rotund: Doritos, donuts, heaping plates of pasta, Mai Tais, etc. You get the picture. Most of our caloric crutches have one thing in common: lots of simple carbohydrates that spike blood sugar, get quickly stored away as fat, and always leave you wanting more.
But as carbs are still important for getting through your day — your brain runs on them after all — they are allowed when they come in slow-burning, low-glycemic forms. This can be summed up in one word: beans!
There’s really no magic to The Slow-Carb Diet. It’s not a wacky metabolic trick, like Keto, or some sort of neurotic system that forces you to weigh your food or stick to high-profit, pre-packaged eats. At the end of the day, it’s pretty much calories in vs. calories out. The Slow-Carb Diet just provides a way to make sure that your tummy’s feeling satisfied with healthy choices while your body resets to a healthier weight.
The ideal Slow-Carb meal is a hunk of lean protein flanked by beans and veggies. Repeat three times a day. Hard to find a nutritionist that would argue with that.
And some fun is allowed. A glass or two of dry wine is fine, and you get a cheat day once-a-week where you can go nuts and eat whatever floats your boat. As a busy dad married to an amazing chef, I tend to allow myself a cheat meal or two here and there instead of taking a dedicated cheat day.
Sometimes home-made wontons are on the menu, or the family schedule demands a mid-week pizza night. But at such times I try to remind myself that one can be content with a couple of slices and an extra helping of salad. You don’t need to wash down the whole pie with a six-pack of double IPAs. I think that’s what they call being a grown-up.
So wish me luck on my latest go-round. Covid’s cancelled the usual inducements to constraint: the weddings and reunions and gigs that spur my vanity, driving me to present camera-ready.
But as important as that might (or might not) be, taking stock of my health is something I need to do for my mind, my emotions, and the creative work that flows from them. Nothing done is done alone. My ghost needs its fleshy machine, and needs it working properly. Sometimes it just needs a little less of it.
