Every Saturday morning I wake up with a thumping headache. A thumping headache and a promise to myself that next weekend will be different.
Ring a bell?
Well, unlike most twenty somethings, the Friday night activity that leaves me felling less than savoury come the morning has nothing to do with alcohol (well, not much). And everything to do with sugar.
Yup, Friday night is the night of the week that the boy and I let ourselves run free and wild (in a food sort of way). We select a place we really want to try and we concede that we don’t have to chow down on healthy noms, paleo foods or anything in between. If you will, it is our ‘cheat meal’.
I am a huge advocate for giving yourself a break some times. No matter if it’s from a vigorous exercise regime, a busy worklife or a specific diet, it’s important to give yourself room to breath (mentally and physically), otherwise you’re just going to snap. (Probably in a screaming, shouting throwing things manner – and ain’t nobody got time for that).
But recently I’ve started to have love/hate relationship with these evenings.
My problem is, they always disappoint.
Not at first. At first its all love, love love. At first bite I experience beautiful hit of sugar that I can feel in the back of my eye balls. It’s exciting and naughty and I get a serious rush of adrenaline. But then, sugar becomes like crack, and I suddenly start to seek it in all its forms. (Cake? Cool. Caramel slice? Hand it over. Stale biscuit? Gimme, gimme, gimme). My usually dignified self (ha) is taken over by a sweet fiend, and I’ve been known to rack up more than two desserts of a night out.
I convince myself that I have to squeeze and push as much ‘cheating’ into one occasion as my poor stomach can handle. It’s like opening the fructoise fuelled flood gates – literally. And I will continue to consume until I’m lolling, delirious on the couch, the first (ok, ok, second and third too) button of my jeans undone and a Homer-esque dribble escaping my mouth. It’s then, and only then, that I give in and drag myself to bed (without even bothering to brush my teeth, because even a shovel couldn’t scrap the layer of fuzz accumulated on my caramel coated choppers).
I don’t rest until I’m completely pickled in glucose.
Then Saturday roles around and the aftermath hits.
Sugar seems embedded into me, it seems to have sucked every inch of water from my body and left me a raison shell of a human being. Everything hurts. My head. My stomach. Even my mouth seems raw and numb from the sugar overdose.
The idea of a cheat meal is to allow yourself a treat without a side order of guilt. But no matter if I feel guilty or not (I do), I always feel rubbish. And, to be honest, it’s fucking scary (excuse my french). Because I may go a bit nuts with my treats that one night a week, it’s not uncommon for others to eat not only as much sugar, but more… on a daily basis. Their bodies are just used to the poison. They simply don’t feel the horrid effects anymore.
Sort of like how the more Merlot you drink the more your tolerance goes up, and the more your booze buzz goes down, sugar doesn’t have such a huge effect the more you eat it. Kinda like any drug really. You never notice what it’s doing to you, until that lethal dose.
Well, I don’t want to wait till I’m lying in a pool of my own vomit (that’s a legitimate fear right there). So I’m checking myself into cheat day anonymous (aka CDA) and trying to scale back my binges. Maybe I need to have a couple of smaller sugar allowances a week? Or maybe I need to go cold turkey?
What do you think?