Of McRib and self-denial…

In my mind I’m sure that “diet” will always be among the most unpleasant 4-letter words in the English language. Over the last five months, though, I’ve learned a lot by tracking every bite and morsel that’s found its way into my mouth. Calories, macronutrients, I’ve plugged them all into my fancy little nanny app after giving everything a proper weigh and measure. It’s certainly changed how I view a “serving” size… some for the better, but most for the worse. 

The most important thing I’ve learned in tracking everything, however, is that over time I’m found ways to continue eating a fair number of foods I enjoy. Not all of them, of course – a Chipotle burrito and a big slice of my home-made lasagna remain well out of bounds – but I’ve been able to start re-introducing some old favorites. 

For instance, I found that if I scale back hard on breakfast and lighten up a bit on dinner, I can manage to cram in a McRib value meal for lunch.

I know that doesn’t exactly sound like an accomplishment for some people. Hell, the European Union probably doesn’t even consider it food… but I’ve loved the damned thing since I was working the grill at my local McDonald’s way back in the late 1900s. Its arrival each fall is something of a minor personal celebration here.

Yes, the sandwich and fries are a touch high in calories and saturated fat, but not prohibitively so if I tweak the rest of the day’s menu. In my mind at least it’s something well worth doing if only as a reminder that at some point I’ll again exist in world of food beyond variations on baked chicken and brown rice. Sadly, I’ve had to replace the Orange Drink with a Diet Coke. I haven’t yet come up with an acceptable way to offset the calories in a fully loaded soda yet… but it’s a compromise I’m willing to make if it means I get to enjoy the rest.

I wish I could say this process has been some kind of life changing, electrifying wonder experience. The reality is, though, even as I begin slowly adding back foods with flavor, it’s been mostly drudgery. Necessary and probably long overdue drudgery, but none the less, not an experience I’ll spend a lot of time remembering fondly. 

I’ve still got miles to go as the poet said, but I’ve suffered though much longer than I figured I’d stick with it. The real question now that I’ve passed well beyond the halfway mark is how much longer I’ll manage to stick with fairly rigid self-denial. It’s not an activity I’ve ever been particularly well suited for and one that still feels decidedly unnatural.