The Slippery Slope (Arrrgghhh! I've Cracked!)
The Slippery Slope
(A Tale of Kebab-Laden Regret
and Dieting Doom)
So… how’s the T2D diet going? I hear you ask, wide-eyed with hopeful expectation.
Well, I’d love to sit here and tell you that I’ve been the poster child for healthy living — that I’ve dropped 10 stones, reversed my type 2 diabetes, and now jog up mountains with a protein shake in one hand and a quinoa salad in the other.
But no. I’m not that guy.
Like most of us mortals cursed with this condition, I do not possess the willpower of a professional athlete or a reality TV contestant with a book deal.
And you know what really grinds my gears?
That one person. You know the one.
“Oh yeah! I dieted and sweated off 15 pounds... in a week!”
You ask, “Oh, you’re diabetic then? Type one or two?”
“Nahhh! I’m not one of those. I just know how to make weight fall off.”
Well, bully for you, you smug, kale-guzzling, salad-sniffing, protein-shaking bundle of pure irritation.
What a completely unhelpful, self-absorbed prick. 😒
Sorry… I digress. (Deep breath, Billy. Let it go.)
So. How’s the diet really going, months in?
Well… I’m so bloody fed up with this calorie-counting, carb-dodging, fun-sucking routine. Arrrrgh. I could murder a slice of Death by Chocolate. No wait — scratch that. I could do time for an English fry-up with extra black pudding and all the grease my arteries dare to hold.
I can feel the willpower cracking. The once-mighty fortress of dietary discipline is now a crumbling sandcastle. Oh dear…
It’s like watching those poor souls from Weight Watchers or Slimming World. Saints on Monday. Sinners by Tuesday tea.
They leave the weigh-in lighter and holier-than-thou… only to launch themselves into their favourite takeaway and inhale a large meat feast, chips, curry sauce, kebab, AND cheesecake - all before 8pm.
And they wonder why the scales are yelling at them the following week. Bless 'em. Honestly, it's tragic and hilarious.
Where was I?
Ah yes - descending the slippery slope...
Blood sugars? Not terrible.
Cravings? Oh, mate - Off the chart.
“I’ll just have a small Donner with salad,” I tell myself, oozing virtue like a monk on detox.
Fast-forward ten minutes and I’m ordering a mixed Donner. With chips. All the sauces. Coleslaw. Garlic mayo like it’s going out of fashion.
The moment it arrives, it’s like a starving dog at a food bowl. Snarling. Slobbering. Eyes rolling back with each bite.
Then comes the aftermath.
My belly distended, looking like I have a basketball under my shirt. Kebab wrapper laying there licked clean, empty and steaming. The Homunculus in my head whispering to no one in particular:
“Why did I do it?”
“I’m so weeeeak…”
“I hate myself…”
And thus begins the slow descent….. The treats start creeping back in. A cheeky cola here, a biscuit there. One day off becomes three. Then a week. Then…. Let’s say you're basically on first-name terms with Mr. Chippy again.
Before you know it, you’re right back where you started — only now you can’t feel your toes and your doctor is looking at you like you’ve just kicked a puppy into a river!
So why do we do it?
We’re bored. Tired. Hungry for something that isn’t lettuce.
We miss flavour. Comfort. Spontaneity.
We want a bloody break from the maths of it all - grams, carbs, calories, units, glycaemic indices. It’s exhausting.
But here's the thing: falling off the wagon doesn’t mean you’re doomed forever.
It just means you’re human. A hungry, fed-up, slightly greasy, beautifully flawed human.
The real trick?
Recognising the slope. By grabbing a sturdy branch (metaphorically, not a 12 inch sausage) and pulling yourself back up.
I’m weak.
I’m bored.
I just want to feel my toes again.
So I’ll try again. Not next week. Today.
Maybe with a salad. Maybe with half a kebab.
But always with a laugh — and maybe a blog post, too.
