This summer, I’m going on a diet.
I’ve tried for most of my adult life to eat reasonably well, but this is the first time I’m going to really try.
See, it’s not that I’ve become obese yet. But my famously skinny Appling genes just aren’t keeping up as well as they used to. It’s hard for genetics to keep up with my lifestyle of too much desk work, too many kids offering birthday treats and not enough opportunities for exercise.
It comes down to the fact that I just don’t like how I look. Cheri’s going to do it too because she doesn’t like how she looks after the pregnancy. So we are planning a sugar cleanse and then a month of paleo dieting.
As with everything, there are amateurs like us, people who are just dipping their toes in the water. And then there are the hard-bitten devotees. You find these kinds in the gym, but also Comic-Con, or museums or message boards or even church.
As I dip my toes in the water of trendy diets, though, what bugs me is just how obviously apparent it is that food has become a national religion.