Why did I ever agree to do this?
What a stupid name anyway, Whole30. It should be called TinyFraction30 since I can only eat about ten percent of the food in the grocery store.
But no, stupid Whole30 has a grudge against sugar, dairy, grains and alcohol. It tells me those things cause inflammation, making me feel achy and sluggish. It tells me I must subsist for 30 days on vegetables, meat, eggs and fruit.
Damn you, Whole30, for promising me I’d feel downright euphoric after completing the program. And damn me for falling for it.
Please tell me, Whole30, what do you have against oatmeal? I am so sick of eating eggs for breakfast that I’m fantasizing about oatmeal. And quinoa. And beans. This is embarrassing.
And furthermore, why can’t I have one tiny cocktail on special occasions? Do you know how dull I was at a Halloween party last week? I just stared at people with my dead eyes speaking bluntly about everything from politics to middle school teachers. I wish I had the wherewithal to claim my behavior was part of my Debbie Downer costume.
You’ve broken me, Whole30. I had a dream last night. Want to know what it was about? I could have fantasized about anything in the world; instead I dreamed I was staying at a fancy hotel that offered Paul Rudd as a “comfort companion” to join me for a cuddle on the couch to boost my flagging spirits. Literally cuddle. Comfy sweats, messy bun, glasses and Netflix with Paul Rudd.
I guarantee that if I had been allowed to eat oatmeal for breakfast, I would have had the stamina to dream about Jon Hamm. And we would not have been cuddling. Well, maybe a little cuddling at the end while we hydrated and discussed Mad Men.
You want to know the worst part, Whole30? I feel fan-freaking-tastic. I’m a little more than halfway through the program and I’ve never felt better. My energy is high, my aches and pains nonexistent and I’m sleeping like preschooler after a long day at Disneyland. It’s totally working. I have to keep going. Damn you.
I appreciate you carefully mapping out all the emotions I would likely encounter while on the program. After reflecting upon my hastily penned, carb-deprived manifesto, I’m thinking I might have hit the cranky “kill all the things” phase you accurately describe. You estimated it would strike around day four or five; I lasted until day 16 before snapping.
I know it will pass. It has to pass. Please tell me it will pass.
Per your instructions, instead of ranting, I’ll take a deep breath, blend up a twee yet tasty turmeric almond milk latte, and focus on how good I’m feeling. I will not think about oatmeal. I will not think about Paul Rudd. I might think about Jon Hamm.