Rich and I are going on Atkins for a month, starting tomorrow. We're doing this because we have to do something, and Atkins sounds like a plan we could actually live with, if we decide to. I had always thought Atkins was kind of, you know, out there, with the no carbs and all that protein and fat and all. But Rich's brother has real results with it and, doing some research, I discovered that it's actually not high protein and fat after all. And not no carbs, just low carbs.
Pretty darn low carbs, in fact, at least to start with. The first two weeks, the Induction phase (their term), allows no sugar, no grains, no starchy vegetables and 20 grams of carbs (from other sources) a day. They also say that for the first week or so, giving up high carb comfort foods "may leave you feeling emotionally bereft." Oh, good.
I'm not sure what the actual reason for that would be, but I'm assuming it's caused by changes in brain chemistry when you turn off the carb fountain. I've had some sad experience at brain chemistry changes. Or, actually, recovering from them, I guess. I quit smoking in January, 1998, and a rollicking good time it was, too! I was well and truly addicted to nicotine. If you ever have a free hour, look up 'nicotine addition.' When you get into the technical explanation of what's happening, you'll discover that nicotine causes the very same changes in brain chemistry as opiates. Only with much, much more frequent stimulation. (In my case, four packs a day, 20 cigs per pack, however many puffs per cig. That's a lot of endogenous opioid activity and dopamine pathways. Trust me.) Quitting was…hard. And tearful. And all-around crazy, for a few weeks. (After that, it was just unpleasant for a really long time, and I do celebrate every January 20th, let me tell you!) I'm sure, just sure, it won't be as bad as quitting smoking. As much as I love carbs—wallowing in potatoes, baking fragrant bread, stirring up the perfect gravy, carefully creating the lavish dessert—it just can't be as bad. Right?
Okay. Well. Anyway…Rich doesn't have quite the same yen for carbs as I do, but it's not going to be a romp in the park for him, either. If you happen to have stock in Nestle's Tollhouse Cookie Ice Cream Sandwiches, dump it. It's about to take a plunge.
So, anyway, I'll be working hard the next few days, writing copy for a few websites, and we'll see just how dark my writing gets. Depending on how the neurotransmitters flow, I may very well imply that you should save for retirement or sell your real estate because we're all doomed, just doomed, and doing anything is pointless. With any luck, it won't take long to get out of the bereft stage into the increased-energy-and-sense-of-well-being that's supposed to happen next.
Two more things, real quick:
First, in case you thought I wasn't going to talk about Dallas Stars hockey, Brad Richards was NOT traded today. Woo-hoo!
Secondly, we've been trying to get rid of all the loose carbs flapping around the house. We finished up the leftover lasagna, and had strawberry shortcake to get rid of the strawberries and the ice cream and whatnot. This is Rich's:
In the interest of remaining married, I'm obliged to point out that Rich was trying to use up all the whipped cream. But…yeah. We might be doing this Atkins thing just in time.
We'll see how it goes. Now I have to go drink that last beer, and get it out of the house by tomorrow. Yes, have to!
It's a good thing there is nothing in the picture to provide scale and an indication of just how big that bowl is.
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