(Long Island, NY) “Cut the sugar out of your diet, or you’re screwed.” That’s not exactly what the doctor said, but that was the general message. Bad news to have both parents diagnosed as Type 2 diabetics, worse to be a complete sugar addict from day one. When I was born, there was a candy cane hanging out of my mouth like a cigarette.
So I had to start cutting the damn sugar out. I thought I was doing well to stop eating ice cream, drinking overpriced lattes at the world’s largest drug pusher (their name rhymes with Barbucks), and going on the wagon for a little while.
But wait, there’s more.
Sugar is EVERYWHERE. Ever tried to cut it completely out of your diet? Even for a little while? You may wonder why Americans have so many problems with weight issues — until you try to cut out every single bit of sugar that contaminates your diet.
Don’t mistake me for a rabid, anti-sugar crusader, here. I am just on the rampage in my own life to keep my body from freaking out and going into a Type Two diabetic fit. That said, the damn sugar conspiracy is pervasive and I can’t help but to think of it as such considering how much food sugar is actually in.
Imagine my shock when I learned how much sugar is in ketchup, in orange juice, and in the biggest shock of all, sushi.
Yes, I said sushi.
I figured I would just substitute one vice for another. Giving up ice cream wouldn’t be such a sacrifice if I could indulge a few extra times a week at the sushi bar as a reward for being so good. After giving up sugar I could taste it in anything else I ate, things I never noticed before. Like that sauce they put on the eel, the teriaki glaze on those little chicken skewers, and even the rice itself. They put sugar in that, too? You better believe it. Sugar is what keeps that rice sticky. I was doomed. There’s even sugar in the freakin’ seaweed salad dressing. You can’t win.
Then I got the bright idea to eat only sashimi, which is just the raw fish without any rice at all. I was doing rather well with this for about two weeks. I was as happy as a (raw) clam until that stupid report came out where the journalist had his body tested for about 300 chemical compounds. In the course of that study, the doctors found elevated levels of mercury in the reporter’s blood. The reason? The journo had eaten two fish dinners in a row.
Imagine my despair. I was happy in my ignorance. Blissful, like the old wheeze says. No longer. Now the sushi was out, too. If I want to eat mercury, I’ll pan-fry a thermometer.
I decided that I had to lighten up on cutting out ALL the sugar in my diet. After all, your body needs some carbs to survive. Cut them out completely by trying to get rid of sugars, and you’ll wind up on your back in the train station, twitching like a heavy metal fan on one too many cups of coffee.
I found myself eating at Indian restaurants again (i had stopped because of all the starchy temptations), allowing myself some rice and a slice of that lovely bread you always find at the curry buffets. No real ill effects. I started eating more steak, green veggies, and chicken. One morning I even ate some pancakes. I spaced out my indulgences to try and make them a once-a-week deal. It wasn’t easy at first, because being a self-indulgent twit really is the American way. Just ask any single, no kids-having SUV or Hummer driver. Those people know all about self-indulgence. They are the reason why we’re still clamoring for oil. There is no supply without demand, folks.
Seems that maybe in moderation, sugar (or oil) isn’t too bad, but my old habits could never come back into play again. A bowl of ice cream three or four times a week, that was me. Of course, I’ve always been into exercise, and that’s probably what’s kept me out of full Type Two mode (unlike my parents who work out off and on, but aren’t what you’d call fanatics.) In fact, once I put my sugar consumption into the same perspective as my gasoline consumption (I only drive once every two or three weeks or so, and use much more public transport and walking) it became clear that I could win the sugar war.
After all, I just have to tell myself “no”. That isn’t so difficult.
Right?
I’ve learned a bit about myself on this journey of self-discipline. It’s true, we Americans really aren’t raised to tell ourselves “no”. We’re really told the exact opposite, and that’s what gets us–OK, me–into trouble. But once I started making my little self-denial a habit, I found that it was effective in many other areas of my life. I caught myself not hitting the snooze button so much, actually doing the exercise I told myself I’d do that week instead of slacking off a bit in the name of “not overtaxing my body”. A lot of little “nos” have started adding up to larger “yesses” in life for me, in the form of better health, more energy, and a keen interest in getting more of the same.
Saying “no” is a habit, a skill that you have to learn. If you can do that, you really can make progress on just about anything. The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single “NO.”
These days, I hardly miss all that sugar. My eating habits feel “normal”, as in, it no longer feels like I’m sacrificing very much. I get the occasional lust for a piece of chocolate cake, thanks to the smell of a bakery I have to pass by every now and again, but I just remind myself that I’m saving a lot of money on those overpriced sugary lattes, plus doctor bills from Type 2 diagnosis and monitoring.
Then, I start remembering all that great crap I can’t eat anymore and it makes me crazy. So much for being strong-willed and independent. I’l still as weak as ever, I’m just not shoving it into my mouth. Instead I spend twice as much time whining about it as I ever did eating it.
Which is worse?
