Year of No Sugar (23 page)

Everything had gone great. I mean, how lucky was I? I'd been corresponding with Gillespie via email ever since he happened to notice I was blogging and tweeting endless effusive compliments about his book
Sweet Poison
.
⁵⁴
Holy crap!
I had thought—David Gillespie read
my
review of his book? This was like…like serving cupcakes to Martha Stewart!

So I managed to rearrange my schedule (and that of my family) soon after I found out he was going to be in New York City for a few days and had offered to meet up with me. The chance to meet the man who wrote, “If obesity was a disease like bird flu, we'd be bunkered down with a shotgun
and three years' supply of baked beans in the garage”? I mean, how could I pass
that
up?

Of course, getting to
anywhere
from Vermont is a bit of a task, but since I wasn't planning on being in
his
stomping grounds (Australia) anytime very soon, it seemed like a unique opportunity. So, dressed up and bleary-eyed, I left home at 6:45 a.m., drove to the suburb of White Plains, hopped on the 11:05 commuter train, and was dumped out in Grand Central in time to meet him for lunch at one p.m. Phew!

In fact, I was early.
Really
early. And nervous. I started to have
what if
thoughts. What if…he thinks I'm a
moron
? What if this lunch will necessitate an involved conversation about GLUT proteins and the role of the hypothalamus? What if my writing is waaaay more interesting than I am in person?

I know, I know. But these are the things one worries about when you get to the restaurant where you're supposed to be meeting one of your big inspirations and you have a full
hour
to get anxious. I was just deeply grateful that my car hadn't failed me, the train hadn't been late, I hadn't gotten lost, I didn't feel nauseous, and it wasn't a bad hair day.

And of course, I needn't have worried. David Gillespie, I am happy to report, is about as easygoing a guy as you're going to encounter. He's reserved, witty, and quietly passionate about his work. Like me, he's the kind of person who prefers to state his case in print and let others make of it what they will, and who isn't especially fond of having to sell people on his ideas in person.

In fact, he didn't start out to make a No-Sugar movement at all. Rather, he said, when folks were curious how he had managed to lose such a tremendous amount of weight, he would reply, “I stopped eating sugar.”

“Well, of course,
that
wasn't good enough!” Gillespie laughed over lunch. “So I decided to write
Sweet Poison
. And then I could tell them to read
that
!”

And the book's power to convince has worked well. It worked
so
well that Gillespie has sold over a hundred thousand copies of
Sweet Poison
in Australia and many more of the follow-up companion book
The Sweet Poison Quit Plan
. In fact, the motivation for this very trip was to find a publisher to distribute these same volumes in the U.S.
⁵⁵

I was amazed to hear David's stories. For example, in Gillespie's children's school, in addition to making provisions for children with allergies and food sensitivities, they now make provisions for kids who aren't eating sugar. Let me say that again:
They make provisions for the children who aren't eating sugar
. As many as ten different children in a single grade level.

!!!!

By way of contrast, I related the story of Greta's recent standardized testing at school, which went on for three days, the by-product of which was a tiny
mountain
of treat wrappers that she dutifully carried home for me to see. “And this doesn't include the ice cream every day!” she added helpfully.

_______

_______

Shortly after this event—just to carry this tangent one step farther—our family was paying a visit to the local farmer's market and there was candy bloody
everywhere
in anticipation of the upcoming Halloween festivities. At this point, despite telling myself everyone's intentions were kind, I was starting to get a little peeved. “What, do they not think they'll be getting enough candy
tomorrow
?” I muttered. “Is an entire
pillowcase full
not enough??” After repeatedly demurring the bowl of cheap treats that was proffered at nearly every single table, one fellow held out a bowl of brightly colored hot peppers to us, causing us to do a double take. He laughed and apologized for not having candy. He assured us that the
next
table had candy.

“Yes,” I said grimly. “There's
always
candy!”

Lucky for Gillespie (who is father to six children, all of whom are subsisting undeprived on No Sugar) they don't
have
Halloween in Australia. They also don't have high-fructose corn syrup. But they
do
have all the same sugar-related health problems as Americans (diabetes, heart disease, obesity, etc.), which surely negates the argument that HFCS is any worse than plain old familiar sugar.

I learned this, and so many other interesting things, at our lunch. I learned that balsamic vinegar
isn't
really vinegar and
is
fortified with sugar. I learned that Crisco was invented in 1911. I learned that Gillespie's next two books would detail what he feels is the other great dietary scourge of our time: seed oils. (Canola, vegetable, corn, hydrogenated oils, etc.
⁵⁶
)
According to Gillespie, these are even harder to ferret out than sugar and are the other missing piece of our health puzzle, namely cancer. Whoa.

I learned that Gillespie and I had read all the same books and that his first book was tentatively titled
Raisin Hell
because somebody somewhere got confused and thought the book was about the dangers of “fruit toast.” (Get it? Fructose? Ha ha!!)

And I thoroughly enjoyed having lunch with perhaps one of the only people on the planet who would nod knowingly when I blurt out, “And what's the deal with
agave
!?!”

So why
was
I so annoyed on the drive home? I realized, way belatedly, that I had completely forgotten the bloggers code: Always. Take. Pictures. Did I take a picture of me and him? Did I take a picture of what we ate? The restaurant? The bum outside?
Anything???
Nope. You know, sometimes it's a wonder I manage to leave the house with my head still attached. Oh well.

SO, where
do
two No-Sugar proponents eat for lunch in New York City? We ate at Les Halles (fittingly, the restaurant of another of my favorite writers, Anthony Bourdain). We had some very nice steaks and French fries, and a side salad… with no dressing.

_______

As it turns out, David Gillespie wasn't the only interesting person I got to meet as a consequence of the No-Sugar Project. Back in March while flying with my dad en route to Mayo clinic, I happened to look up from my seat in the first row of coach to see someone I recognized sitting in first class. I did a double take, the way you do to be sure you aren't
seeing things, and then I knew.
Holy cow! That's
mother freaking Jason Jones
!

For those of you who are not rabid fans of the political humor show
The Daily Show
, Jason Jones is one of the primary correspondents who regularly delivers news stories “on location”—in front of a green screen in Comedy Central's New York City studio. My husband and I are big, huge, ENORMOUS fans of the show, so of course, I texted Steve right away to tell him.
It's Jason Jones! It's Jason Jones! The one who's married to Samantha Bee!
(also a Daily Show correspondent)
Sitting not five seats away from me! Holy crap!! What do I do?!

I had meant it rhetorically, of course. There was nothing to
do
. I'm not the autograph-seeking type, so of course I sat there and admired my mere proximity to a fairly famous person, period. And then suddenly, I
knew
. My heart sank and started beating fast simultaneously. There was something I should do. Aw,
man
…

I had to tell him about the No-Sugar Project.

Shit.

But I
knew
I had to do it—I knew it with as much conviction as I had known, way back on that day I had watched Dr. Lustig's YouTube lecture, that we had to try living without sugar for a year. It's almost as if the idea had come from outside of me, rather than from me:
This was what had to happen
. We had to eat for a year without sugar—we had to try. And I had to write about it. I was possessed, obsessed, and this was the only cure.

It was in this way that I
knew
I had to talk to Jason Jones. Why? Because what if they just
happened
to be doing a story next week on one of the controversial proposed soda taxes?
Or a story on projected obesity rates in America? Or a story on Michelle Obama's recent and much-touted “Let's Move” healthy kids initiative? I mean, this story, the story of the fattening of America, was all over the news with increasing frequency. Wouldn't I be remiss not to try to get the No-Sugar message out there?

No, I'd never forgive myself if I didn't try. In fact, I'd forever blame everything that ever happened in the rest of my life on this one, quintessential failure of fortitude: My No-Sugar blog dwindled sadly into obscurity? Should've introduced myself to Jason Jones. I broke down and ate an entire sugar sculpture minutes before midnight on New Year's Eve? Too bad I hadn't talked to Jason Jones. My watch stopped? Jason Jones could've fixed it.

I took deep breaths. Have I mentioned I'm no good in person? There's a reason I'm a writer you know. I thought about what I needed to say. I didn't even have a business card with me—curses!—so I ripped a sad little piece of paper out of my notebook and scrawled my name and blog address on it. I took more deep breaths.

After the plane was well in the air and beverage service had been through, I stood up and walked the few steps to first class. I walked right past Jason Jones. I went to the lavatory.

On the way back, though, I knew it was my last chance. I couldn't keep going to the lavatory and eyeing Jason Jones like a stalker. I had to say something. I tried not to think, because if I thought, I wouldn't have done it.

“Hello,” I said. “Are you, by any chance, Jason Jones?”

Well, of course he was.

I introduced myself. I told him what a big fan I was—of him and of his wife. I told him my husband was going to be
terribly jealous that I had met him. And then I paused. I got really quiet. I did my best to sound like a totally sane person who is definitely not a serial killer. And I told him I had a project I was working on which might be of interest.

Moments later, I was talking with both Jones and a fellow across the aisle whose name I should've caught—I really should get an
award
for how bad I am at this—who produces all the sketches Jason is in.

“He's really the brains behind everything,” Jason said. (The two of us being on a first-name basis and all, you know.) He added self-deprecatingly, “I'm just the monkey in the suit.”

They wanted to know the same things everybody else wanted to know, but I could tell they were prodding for any comic potential.

“Have you lost any weight?”

“What does your husband say?”

“How do the kids feel about it? Are they any calmer? Have they freaked out?”

I tried to give them hilarious, fascinating answers, but—and stop me if I've already mentioned this—I'm not so especially fascinating or hilarious in person. Plus, at this point, we were a mere eight weeks in to the Year of No Sugar—we'd barely dipped our toes in the water.

But I tried. I had an actual, real conversation in which polite laughter occurred, and they took my pathetic little piece of paper. They were awfully nice, considering that they probably get accosted fourteen times a day by people who want to tell them about how their family is living on a trapeze to protest circus apathy or something.

I went back to my seat and I felt great. I had done it—I had
tried
, despite being intimidated down to the last fiber of
my being. Nothing ever did come of it—well, not
yet
! Can you hear me, JASON??—but I had done my best, despite myself. No Sugar was teaching me things about myself I never could've imagined.

All I can say is it's a good thing Michelle Obama wasn't on my plane, or I probably would've had to request oxygen.

_______

But back to Halloween.

Halloween was going to be a big milestone in our Year of No Sugar. I knew this because it was one of the very first questions asked when we introduced the idea of our family project in the car ride home from Grandma's house lo those many months ago.

“But what about
Halloween
? What about
Christmas
?” my children had wailed from the backseat. I was ruing the day I ever came up with this plan already, and we hadn't even started.

“We'll figure it out,” I had said in what I hoped was my most-convincing mom voice. “Don't worry. We'll do it together. As a family. And it's not forever.”

My kids were thoroughly un-reassured as we snuffled our red-eyed way home. I realized then that I was going to have to give momentous annual sugar festivities, such as Halloween, some very serious thought.

So in the days approaching the end of October, I began canvasing every parent I knew about creative Halloween strategies. I came across several methods for dealing with the autumnal sugar onslaught, this mother-of-all-candy holidays. Let me count the ways…