I had a colossal shit ton of things to do yesterday afternoon, almost all of them relating to my dad, who, you may recall, is in a nursing home for dementia. I stuffed some high-quality grub (coconut-curry crockpot beef and veggies) into myself at 1:30 pm and went off to TCB.
The next time I ate anything was 8 pm.
Trust me when I say that the former version of me -- you know, the vegetarian-ish/grain-filled/35-pounds-heavier guy that doesn't exist anymore -- would have been fucking homicidal by then. I mean really .... just an abominable human being to be near. A cranky insulin-crashing motherfucker. The ranking of Awful People in History would have been something like:
3. Pol Pot
And I might have given one or two of the ones above me on the list a decent run for their money.
But yesterday? No. I was, dare I say, witty, charming and generally a joy to be around.
This may be a slight exaggeration. Maybe I was none of those things, but I was not, in any sense, cranky or miserable. And, mind you, I was dealing with my dad and/or his crazy issues much of the time, so the surrounding circumstances were not the same as, say, getting a foot massage from Anne Hathaway while being served delicious drinks on a beach and Anne, let's say, just happened to forget the food she promised to bring. No, it was crappy and vaguely stress-filled. But it was not famished-feeling.
I just was ever-so-barely beginning to feel hungry after *6 1/2* hours without food. And the hungry feeling was just a vague sort of, "Hmmm, maybe I should start to think about eating something" feeling, rather than a "Give me food or I may eat your babies and/or pets" imperative.
It was really a stunning declaration from my whole metabolism that this primal/paleo stuff works. Fill up on animal protein, good fat and veggies and you can go longer than you ever imagined possible without the demon insulin making a cameo and demanding you do your best crazed-dictator imitation.
Yup. Eat like a predator, not a prey.
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