The Slippery Slope (Arrrgghhh! I've Cracked!)

So… how’s the T2D diet going, I hear you ask. All 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 mere mortals cursed with this condition, I do not possess the willpower of a professional athlete or a reality TV contestant. And you know what really hacks me off? That one person. You know the one? There’s always one.

“Oh yeah! I dieted and sweated off 15 pounds... in a week!”

“Oh, you’re diabetic then. Which one, 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 knob! 😒

Sorry… I digress. (Deep breath, Billy)

So. How’s the diet really going, months in?

“Oh! Don’t get me started… 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 jail time for an English fry-up with extra black pudding and all the grease that my arteries can 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 favorite 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 them. 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 kid myself. I’m oozing virtue like a monk on detox. Fast-forward ten minutes and I’m ordering an XL Mixed Donner, with large fries and all the sauces. Chilli, coleslaw, garlic mayo. I have all the salad with it, because it’s healthy. Ha ha!

When it arrives, it’s like watching a ravenous dog at a food bowl. Snarling. Slobbering. Eyes rolling back with each bite. But then comes the aftermath. I look like Buddha, my belly distended, looking like I have a basketball under my shirt. Kebab wrapper laying there licked clean, empty and steaming. The little man in my head saying:

“Why did I do it?”

“Oh My God... I’m so weak…”

“Arrggghh. I hate myself…”

And thus begins the slow descent….. The treats start creeping back in. A cheeky cola here, a cake there. One day off becomes three. Then a week. Then…. Let’s just 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. We’re tired. We’re hungry for something that isn’t lettuce.

We miss flavor. Comfort. Spontaneity.

We want a break from the math of it all - grams, carbs, calories, units, glycemic indices. It’s exhausting.

But here’s the thing: falling off the wagon doesn’t mean you’re doomed forever though.

It just means you’re human. A hungry, fed-up, slightly greasy, beautifully flawed human.

The real trick is recognizing the slope. By grabbing a sturdy branch (metaphorically, not a 12 inch sausage) and pulling yourself back up.

“I’m bored. I just want to feel my toes again. I’ll try again. Not next week. Today you Fool.”

Maybe I'll just have half a kebab. I'll have it with lots of salad. Maybe with no sauces.

But always with a laugh, and maybe a blog post, too?