Can I get extra addiction with my cheese?

The month long vegan experiment comes to a close. No fanfare. No physical ah ha moments. No food rage. No honorary membership into PETA. I ate animal free one last meal, then the next meal animals were back. The mystique of living beast free piqued my interest. I enjoyed exploring a growing culinary culture and their fans. Even after losing ten pounds during the month, vegan ain’t my bag, baby. These teeth are meant for gnawing on meat and chewing on cheesy cheese. Oh yeah, cheese! 

Throughout the experiment I craved cheese on a visceral level. As would the ancient warrior reach in the still wee hours of the morning to itch a long severed limb, I found myself sprinkling imaginary graded cheese over food in a quiet desperation. I know the cheese is imaginary!... Walmart does not carry my favorite pretend blend. When coagulated cow utter juice is always available the thought of life without does not cause pause. Nor should the concern be there. Until my voluntary animal restriction removes a foundational source of pleasure. It’s only a month. Four weeks. Wisconsin is still in business. Cheese fuels my chi, and evidence points to ancient aliens using a technique to float blocks across rivers of molten cheese whiz while constructing my food pyramid. Thank goodness tofu stepped up and brought the comfort consistency!

In years past, this bean curd cousin of Jell-O only saw action from the culinary JV team. I occasionally sucked down tofu infused miso soup during a pregame throat lubing before a gut busting all-you-can-eat sushi main event. Tofu, you put the time in and stayed true to form. We’re calling you up from the practice squad. Once Destination 195 concludes in December tofu has a strong possibility of making the maintenance diet traveling squad. I'll dress the tofu in cheddar, Monterey Jack, Kraft singles, Swiss, or gubment cheese. The addiction has variety.

Zeal with Your Meal

The transition to vegan consisted of me eating animal flesh and animal by-products one meal, and then not eating animal flesh and animal by-products the next meal. Flipping the switch took as long as it took me to write the first sentence. No weeping, wailing, or gnashing of teeth. However, I am nowhere near receiving a PETA endorsement for No Fat Jokes Please. The sins of bacon past won’t be atoned in one month. A vacation to a country don’t make a local. And not to mention kicking my cowhide dress shoes up on the table soiled the immigration hearing for my temporary asylum request into PETA land. 

Vegan is a phase for me, not a conversion. Merely a sabbatical into the dietary component of a broader subculture, which I hope to infiltrate and gain favor. One week into eating food my food eats, I am blown away by all the suspicious looks shot my direction when people hear “vegan.” (I only sit at the carnivore kid's table during lunch.) Even after they claim reassurance that my buoyant faculties have not sprung a leak, the disdain lingers in the air like an insipid flatulent. Didn’t yo mama learn you nothing? If you keep making that face it will stick.   

I tip my free-range hat to real vegans. Especially the ones who wear the lifestyle on their sleeve. DNA testing is conclusive that they are dietary cousins to multilevel marketers, life coaches, and life insurance salesmen. Most straights, myself included, become fleeing cockroaches when their zealot light enters the room. I have faked more incoming phone calls and conjured up countless fictitious appointments to escape the zealot’s gravitational pull. Until now! I am zeal without cause. I am the leaf eater at the butcher’s shop. The house cats have the same rights as the kids.

For the remainder of my vegan exodus my canned response to the most aggravating one-word question, “Why?” will be answered by an equally annoying one-word retort, “Because.” Then I’ll draw in close with the countenance of a skilled CIA operative sent by the top brace in Langley to recruit double agents. Trusting no one except for my table mates. “I am looking for…” nervously glancing left, then right, upward toward the ceiling, then below the table, “…for a few good partners to build a vegan based revolution. Can I count on you?” If they get cold feet and deny my offer, I will quickly leap from my chair, leaving them to settle the check and gratuity, as I race toward the maître d' yelling Viva les Légumes!!!

Challenge One: Solo hike to Mt Charleston Peak (revisited)

The 2012 Destination 195 program that Jaron designed focused on workouts, with the dietary component being a simple 1800 calorie max. I added in “challenges” during that program to keep blog content fresh. The first challenge came in week three – a solo hike to Mt Charleston peak. (2012 Mt Charleston) Six years later I am in far better shape for the hike, and still attempting to keep the blog content fresh. I began at the same time as 2012, 6:00 a.m. I reached the peak at 9:50, which crushed the last mark by an hour. The final round trip time beat 2012 by an hour as well.

Hiking is way, way down on my desirability list of physical activities, especially in the mountains of Southern Nevada. Even though the views are spectacular, it is hard to walk and enjoy the sites because of the rugged terrain. Every foot placement of the 17 mile round trip is stepping on or around rugged rocks, ranging in size from pinballs to microwaves. The smaller ones are precocious and surly. Once out of the tree line footing becomes a cross between drunken pack mule and giraffe ice skating on the smooth slate leading up to the exposed peak.

Walking with my head down and eyes scanning the path immediately in front for ankle killers provided an interesting perspective. At one point I stopped using the hiking poles to see if my mind could become lost in the moment. Left was only the sound of my footsteps creating a low repetitive clanging of decomposing granite. The pain, the world, and pretty much any voluntary thought slipped away. The walking mediation worked until the ascent to the peak began. I need something more powerful to pass the time and distance. Boredom is worse than the elevation or middle-aged knees. Surprisingly, an interval exercise did the trick -- counting each time my hiking poles touched the ground up to fifty and then looking at the peak. Repeating the interval made the twenty minute trudge endurable.

At the peak I enjoyed the vistas for a few moments before descending. As I passed fellow hikers on their way up they commented, “The hard part is done for you.” So says they. The heart pounding slog up is brutally replaced by the knee pounding slog down. But once home… a shower, a bowl of soup, and ibuprofen make the world right again. Now, where is the celery? Vegan for a month is the next challenging mountain.

The Cleanse: Postmortem

As the cleanse ended on the fourth evening I felt a longing to continue the journey beyond the outer banks of fringe. Going in I had already decided the fourth day would be my exit point. Mentally I set the max at four days because the weekend had in store a grueling 17 mile round trip hike to the peak of Mt. Charleston. What I discovered at the end blew me away -- I could’ve done six more days with ease. But as noted in Drifting the sea in a cup 'o salt things looked sketchy from the beginning.

The first day freaked me out. I am not eating for 96 hours?!?! That inner monologue on a loop caused me to guzzle lemon cayenne water faster than a dehydrated rain forest. Flames in the shipping and receiving docks heightened the angst too. By the second day the anxiety of not eating dissipated slightly, as did the fire trail through my system. I figured if my favorite biblical leading man, the Great I AM, could do forty days and forty nights, then 1/10 of that time is doable. Here’s to you brother.  

36 hours in I swam my first work out, which people on Facebook and in reality felt would be the point my wagon’s wheels flew off. However, I made it through. As a matter of fact, I crushed it! For the swimmers in the audience, the main set of 10 x 300 freestyles culminated with a 3:08 pull. (The first 100, sub 1:00.) Our time in the water ran out before my endurance ran out. The tank had more fuel to give, and my energy level could have pushed me through another hour. The cleanse had brought about a revitalization in the water… No… A renaissance. I feel 20 years younger. So magic cayenne infused water, keep on keeping on. By the next swim work out on the fourth day I went for it all. I would push myself to the crash point. Go ugly early on I.M. day. (Butterfly, backstroke, breaststroke, and freestyle, for the non-swimmers.) The first set out of the shoot -- a 400 I.M. swim for time. I had not swam that distance in a race or in a practice since Bill Clinton enjoyed intern privileges. In honor of Slick Willy I felt the best way to crash and burn, pass out, and then earn an insurance sponsored ride in the wee onngg wee onngg wagon had to come at the hands of the four-headed beast. But guess what? Cruuussshed it. I pushed our top I.M. swimmer for the entire 400. So much so, he finished and the first thing out of his mouth was, “Where did that come from Jarvis?” I knew where it came from. THE CLEANSE!

Four days ain’t enough. The outer banks of fringe is the apex to pass through, not the edge. Physical, mental, emotional, and a myriad of other relating to adjectives were expanded upon, not contracted. There is more to be gained. Before Thanksgiving I will complete a full 10 day master cleanse. My six hours of nightly sleep, 5:30 a.m. swim work outs, full work days, evening cardio, and family time will benefit greatly. Until then…

  

Drifting the sea in a cup 'o salt

Phase two: The Cleanse

Observation from the outer banks of fringe.

The liquid diet is much easier than I predicted. However, the mission nearly self-destructed on the launchpad. I learnt a valuable lesson: following directions while extreme dieting is crucial. Instead of using sea salt in the morning 32oz salt water drink, I cut corners with iodized table salt. A pinch tossed over the shoulder for the challenge and Lot's wife. I only made that mistake on Day One, after it took me four hours to gut down the East River. Drinking table salt water ranks up there with licking a 9-volt battery or chomping down on foil with a mouth full of amalgam fillings. (The other days of sea salt water only took an hour.)

Jaron gave me the heads up to situate my mornings near a fully functional restroom with poor acoustics. If the evolutionist community's claims are founded regarding our ocean origins, then the way my bowels fast tracked the salt water out of my body leads me to believe our digestive systems still holds a grudge for the species changing scenery. Columbia, T minus 10 seconds until complete evacuation. The bottom of that bottle causes a swift shuffle, shuffle, plop, plop. Repeated for thirty excited minutes. Then the rest of my waking hours are spent sipping on the watery lemon cayenne maple syrup vat.

The biggest take-away from this brief cleanse experiment is how bored I am. The absence of food during the cleanse has yet to drive me to hallucination fueled hunger rage, as predicted. There are no hunger pains. I am just stuck in the waiting room of life. Sitting tight until I add back eating, which is a good portion of my day-to-day existence. This is what I imagine life would resemble if sleep got dropped from the required voluntary functions. Just counting the tick tocks in the middle of the night.

The discussing, planning, preparing, and consuming of food is far more consequential to human social structures than I ever expected. Sitting at a table with no food on my plate while others consume sets off primal alarm bells. The tribe does not relax well when one is going without. Hunter instincts take over. Was the kill not large enough?  Nurturing kicks in too. Are you feeling ill? Nope, just cleansing the system with a little flaming citrus brew and hoping their restrooms play loud death metal.

Cleanse the mind, the body, and the sol…ar plexus

The food challenge enters a new phase: The Cleanse. Two plus months of bacon, beef, cheese, peanut butter, and then more cheese on top for good measure -- all of which has created a back log on the plop-plop production line. Keto clog is fo real and not to be taken lightly. (Animal grunting in the stalls attracts unwanted attention.) It is time for a change. And the change is coming. But first, my system needs a flush. Detox the intestines before introducing a diet void of animal flesh or animal byproducts. One month of eating the food my food eats. Vegetarian. Hurts to write that word in direct connection to my dream lifestyle. It is the Voldemort of food consumption. Diet-That-Must-Not-Be-Mentioned -Or-Maintained.

Before the redirection, I have been advised by Jaron to begin the transition from Keto to Veto with a five day cleanse. Lukewarm saltwater as soon as I wake, then a full frontal assault on my gut with the ubiquitous lemon water, cayenne pepper, and maple syrup witch’s brew known as the Master Cleanse.

Thank goodness for the remaining 20 pounds of blubber to provide sustenance. A cleanse constitutes 55 calories for every 8oz of brew. What the freak am I getting myself into!?! Bacon is good. Broccoli is blah. 55 calories is a joke. I consume a dozen calories dreaming about dessert. There will be more calories burnt shuffling between urinals and the porcelain thrown. Sleep is the only escape, and I am not above wearing incontinence briefs to give the bladder and bowels a fighting chance through a fourteen hour night of sleep.    

Four of a Swine

 “I can hardly remember how I built my bankroll, but I can’t stop thinking about the way I lost it.”   -- Mike McDermott

“Send us among the pigs; allow us to go into them.”

Mark 5:12

Keto is a culinary poker game with the devil. My devil is carbohydrates. I have won hand after hand after hand over the past two months. Down 35 pounds by eating In-n-Out Flying Dutchmen, medium rare steaks, pounds of cheese, over easy eggs, butter-butter-butter, rivers of ranch, and bacon as far as the eyes can see. This has been the best food challenge of the Destination 195 era, hands down. But the devil won’t be bluffed forever. My devil is turning into Teddy KGB from Rounders. His patience is wearing thin with my dietary grinding. Check. Check. Check. Well, you feelin' satisfied now, devil carbs? 'Cause I can go on bustin' you up all night.

In addition to slow playing devil carbs, time restricted fasting is accelerating the weight loss. The current program requires me to consume all calories within a six hour window, and to finish my last bite no later than four hours before bedtime. The optimum state is going to sleep with hunger creeping in. I wake at 4:30 a.m. to swim 90-minutes, then wait until 12:00 to eat. I eat dinner the moment I get home, then do a :20 minute exercise of running or plyometrics. When food is only fuel, my mind gets bored pondering the devil’s hand.

People ask me daily, “How long are you planning on doing this diet?” As if my weight loss is too quick for their comfort. There is no denying the current food plan is unsustainable. Jaron and I knew going into this challenge fringe diets are short lived, and should never be viewed as lifestyle changes. Come on people! Who on Sam’s hill would ever believe fasting 18 hours a day, snacking on bacon covered butter, and drinking ranch would be healthy? It is ridiculous… Logic tells me that weight loss should not come from the flesh of the beast… Vegetables are logical… bacon and butter is alternative facts… You know what?..... I am freaking done!.... This diet is a house of cards…. Swine lives matter…. No more bacon…. NO MORE MEAT!!!... I am going vegan.

To be continued.