Before reading a few chapters of "Wheat Belly," I went to the store. My fiance (who is an avid Crossfitter that refuses all things sweet) had a monstrous craving for peanut butter chocolate french toast. I figured that I could simply buy the bread, make him his french toast, and I would whip up some scrambled eggs or something for myself. This is not what happened.
I'm a fanatic when it comes to bread. My nose has been genetically modified to tell the difference between the tangy scents of sourdough to the sweet smells of french. It's a gift (and a curse). This magical ability led me to the fresh-made bread section and I purchased the most glorious loaf in the entire world. Crusty, moist, warm goodness looked up at me from the crinkly brown bag. Swallowing the saliva that had formed from my creepy salivation, I left the store with chocolate, peanutbutter, and bananas in hand. I was going to be strong. I wasn't going to eat the bread.
Look at how pretty it was:
As I spread the chocolate (which I normally whimper at the sight of), I was feeling strong. I was feeling good. But the bread, it just kept staring at me. I didn't want to fall into temptation, but I did. I ripped off a beautiful piece and enjoyed every crumb. I even sliced myself another and sat in heaven for a few minutes in the corner of our kitchen looking like a zombie eating raw meat. I drank some water and found that I wasn't hungry at all - I was so full. Two pieces of bread and I couldn't imagine eating anything with actual nutrients in it. Protein? I didn't need it.
After heading upstairs for bed, I tried to get comfortable. My hands were beginning to tingle and I knew it was only a matter of time before the deep itch underneath my skin was going to rear-up and attack. I kept reading my book (Harry Potter: Chamber of Secrets for the third time) and after each page I turned, the intensity of the itch on my hands increased substantially. I couldn't believe my eczema (self-diagnosed) was flaring up - what could have been the cause? I know, I know - it could be anything right? Who's to say it was the bread?
Scratching and scratching, pushing and pulling my skin, I felt the minutes turn to hours and I knew I couldn't sleep upstairs. I stomped by feet down the stairs and stared at the book I failed to read the night before: "Wheat Belly," by William Davis. The little intuition in the back of my mind was telling me that I could find some answers in this book. I've read two chapters and I'm positively hooked.
As I learn more about myself and the advantages of skipping out on wheat (and hopefully even sugar and all processed foods), I'll share my results and learnings with you.
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