The Right Coast
August 04, 2004
I hope Dr. Atkins is writhing in Hell
By Tom Smith
I'm on the Atkins diet again and I thought everyone would be fascinated to know how lousy I feel. It's only my third day, and it's nice how it all comes back how nasty the process is. It is consistent with the conservation of suffering law, which states that the amount of suffering in life is constant, and can only be transformed from one sort into another.
My theory of how Atkins works is that over the first couple of days, you attempt to assuage your natural desire to eat something besides meat by eating so much meat that you become sick. Then the idea of eating anything is revolting, and before you know it, you've lost weight.
Patrick has toasted some bread and the odor molecules are worming their deep into my brain. There are neurons in there begging pathetically for a slice of bread, some milk, a banana, an apple for God's sake! But no, I am determined.
Yesterday, I had a 4 egg omelet and coffee for breakfast. At 10.30 I was hungry again, so I ate a one pound rib eye steak. Mysteriously, I did not feel like lunch. By 3.30 I was hungry again and had a largish tuna salad. For dinner I had another rib eye steak. I woke up at 6 am as hungry as I have felt in years. I am beginning to see why grains are the basis of civilization. Before, eating carbs, I felt like reading a book and even like writing one. Now, eating mainly meat, I feel like killing something.
I have cheated by eating a couple of handfuls of blueberries, but I figure they are low glycemic carbs and cavemen ate them.
Whether low carb diets are consistent with athletic performance is controversial. Athletes on low carb diets work out more to fight the depression of having only eggs and Vienna sausages to look forward to. This increases their performance. Their tendency to throw themselves over cliffs while cycling, or drop stacks of weights on the their heads if powerlifting, reduces their performance results, however.
It's probably idiopathic, but I have this strange feeling like a little man is inflating my eyeballs while simultaneously cramping the muscles in the back of my neck, at the same time as he churns my stomach with some sort of propeller, and this is combined with weakness in my extremities. Interesting, but unpleasant. Scotch is allowed on the Atkin's diet. A trip to the market is in order.