too near the sun…

…the party’s over, for now.

In grade school I fell in love with a book that I swear I must have checked out once a month – d’Aulaires’ Book of Greek Mythology. The descriptions of the gods and their escapades were fantastically romantic, but it was the follies of demi-gods and mortals that I found most intriguing. Along with Prometheus, Oedipus and Theseus, I learned about the master architect Daedalus and his son Icarus. The two were held captive by King Minos (of labyrinth fame) and brilliantly devised wax and feather wings to soar away from their island prison. But Icarus was foolish and brazen, and despite his father’s warnings he flew boldly toward the sun. He paid dearly for his conceit – the wax melted, the feathers failed and he fell to his death in the sea.

It was a long, hard drop.

That has always been one of my signature parables, having been cursed by a few bouts of somewhat unfounded self confidence over the years. I, too, always seem to fall back to Earth and begin again. Speaking of falling and failing…apparently when you walk 8.5 miles a day you can pretty much eat and drink without consequence, even in your 50s – calories in, calories out, as they say. For most of 2020 and 2021 fitness and cooking co-existed in a sort of unlikely self-fulfilling prophesy realm where somehow I found portion control a breeze. But last September I was hit with severe plantar fasciitis and the walking ended. I don’t mean fewer miles or less frequently, but full stop. The catch was, I made no adjustments on the intake side and I happily gobbled my way down a very familiar path.

Here’s my little secret: I’m a part-time fat girl and I knew exactly what I was doing. I’m well acquainted with of the downstream effects of a reckless relationship with food, so there was no amount of nutritional counseling, skinny clothes or scorn that was going to stop me. Even Mother’s maternally-couched “suggestions” fell on deaf ears. Nearly one year later I am finally walking again but it’s painfully evident that my dalliance with sugar and carbs has finally caught up with me. Yes, it’s a shame and a drag, but I have gained and lost the same damn 25 pounds almost a dozen times in my life, so I’ll fix it. Again. It’s what I do.

Goodbye sugar and carbs; I promise it’s not forever, but you’ve become toxic and I can’t be near you right now. And no, we can’t be just friends. While I am rarely a quitter, sometimes you just have to cut and run. Down the road I know my beloved suitors will inevitably drift back into my life, but hopefully I’ll be more mature (snort) and better equipped to set some boundaries for a healthy, appropriate relationship.

But there’s good news too: butter, cheese and olive oil are not carbs. Nor are fish, beef, chicken, lamb, eggs, pork and most green vegetables. To be clear I’m not a fad diet fool, but I have learned that my metabolism does not do well with a surplus of useless carbohydrates. When I stick to ancient and whole grains in small portions that little switch we all have that signals “I’m full” works just fine. Under the influence of white sugar and refined carbohydrates there is only one gear, full-steam ahead. It’s as if I become that embarrassing friend at the party who thinks she can dance (and sing) after a few pops of tequila. Addiction is not pretty on any level and food is my weapon of choice. This is what I’ve learned about myself over 50 years so I’m not preaching, merely confessing. This week I eased into repair mode with three meals of reasonably healthy carb loads. I can’t say much about the cheese or cream, but there was no pasta, rice, bread or potatoes.

It can be difficult, stressful and downright heartbreaking to really own your bad choices, especially when they brought you so much delight in the moment. But the sum of those fleeting moments is never anything good and the reward for overindulgence is penance, one way or the other. Moderation just might be the universal truth for much of our earthly foolery and indiscretions, but it sure is fun to be naughty sometimes. As for Icarus, maybe if he’d eaten a just few more carbs he’d have had a little cushion. After all, I always bounce back just fine.