Things have been a bit quiet around theses parts and here's why. I'm a couple of years into my thirties and have slowly had to acknowledge that my old body is dead - for lack of a less dire way to put it.
I know that blaming carbs, and by extension bread, on weight gain is so obvious to the point of being passé but I'm not just talking about weight gain. No, I'm talking about the re-composition of my body. A round belly that has just appeared out of nowhere being the prime indicator of how things are now.
Where I live bread is not seen as the enemy that it is in other parts of the world and is consumed in at least two of the typical three meals a day. This made my attempts to break-up with my loaver so much more difficult.
I hate the idea of gaining weight as well as ageing but one of those things is unavoidable so I tried to tackle the other.
I hired a personal trainer, only ate the most basic, rustic bread that I could get my hands on, and stopped eating bread with dinner.
It worked for a limited amount of time but I couldn't keep it up. I lost weight, felt more in control as well as relief that I didn't let myself go completely. Needless to say, as this was not sustainable I found myself gaining back some (not all) of the weight that I'd lost when I found my way back to bread.
The great lame love story of my life refuses to die. And so it shouldn't. Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die are wise words that I'm co-opting here to further convince myself that there is no room for vanity when even one of life's pleasures need be foregone to maintain it.
So with that being said, I look forward to a continued relationship with bread. Too proud to bread? Ultimately no and never shall I be.