At the end of 2017, like many of us, my body was not my own. After a whole month of Friendsgivings, work Thanksgiving, regular Thanksgiving, holiday happy hours, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, New Years Eve, and New Years Day, I was trapped inside a meat prison of my own making. You know the old anecdote about a parent who catches their teen with a cigarette, and makes them smoke a whole pack of cigarettes to learn their lesson? That was me, except I was both parent and teen, and the cigarettes were imported cheeses.

Finally, after 27.5 years on the planet, I had finally eaten enough cheese and carbs, and drank enough champagne, that I was ready to commit to at least 45 years of just lettuce and tap water. But since the “president” is going to blow the whole planet to smithereens WAY before then, I decided on a more realistic short-term goal: one month of semi-paleo “clean eating,” via the Whole30 program. “Gotta make a change! This is rock bottom!,” I said to myself, as Karma rubbed its hands together gleefully. Read More