Some people are born to be doctors. Some people, Bruce Springsteen and tramps included, are born to run. I was put on this earth to eat.

I grew up around a kitchen table, shopping in the husky department, and squirreling away Oreos like an extra in Heavyweights. It is the life I love. Though this fact of life is constantly at odds with my more superficial aspirations to look dead sexy. Previous attempts to correct this imbalance only ended with me standing half naked in front of my freezer in the dark, furiously unwrapping Reese’s peanut butter cups. An all too common experience I’d repent the following morning in the gym like clockwork.

For the better part of thirty years I’ve wanted that holy grail of fitness, a six pack.

For the better part of thirty years I’ve wanted that holy grail of fitness, a six pack. One which I was sure existed on the lower end of the body fat spectrum. (And to be honest, at the twilight of 29, my wild and unbridled eating habits were really starting to take a toll on not just my body, but my mood, stress level, and work.) Exercise-wise, I felt confident—I’m on the verge of being obsessive about weight lifting, really. But, all those things you always hear are true: “Abs are made in the kitchen,” “You can’t out-train a poor diet,” “Sugar is the devil,” and so on and so forth. I had a hunch that if I had somebody holding me accountable and coaching me—in the same way I learned to lift weights—I could stay on course, learn exactly what the hell I was putting into my body, and hopefully get the abs I’d been chasing for decades.

My Food Spirit Guides##

My shepherds on this journey would be the team at Manhattan’s Core Rhythm Fitness (CRF). I’d heard rumors of their results (and seen enough before-and-afters on Instagram), their resolve, and their generally strict oversight of your diet. I got in touch, we set a start date, and I had one last weekend of eating with no cares or concerns. It was pure bliss.

Back home, I made my first visit to CRF and met with head dude Rodrick Covington. He’s an impossibly cheerful and motivational guy, which is an odd compliment to my generally cold, dry, and blunt nature. Shortly after some high-energy conversation, I shuffle to the bathroom to pee in a cup. This would become routine for me—every two weeks I’d be tested to see how my body responded to certain foods and gauge my progress.

That was my first lesson with this whole thing, and it’s fairly obvious when you think about it. The way you eat, the way I eat, and the way somebody else eats could be exactly the same, but it can have profoundly different effects on our bodies. That’s why some people see extreme success when they “go paleo” or “do Atkins.” The hope, with CRF’s approach, is to find foods that your body in specific can use efficiently.

And though the CRF team available and blowing up my phone with motivational messages and helpful tips, I also sought motivation elsewhere. Every morning I'd comb through Reddit's fitness thread before heading to work out. It's a good place to go if you've got questions about fitness, are finding yourself unmotivated, or need some rallying. And as I'd find over the 10 weeks or so, I'd need a lot of that between wild sugar cravings (they eventually subside) and adjusting to a new type of diet.

So Long, Sweet Sweet Sugar

The magical strip of paper dipped in my piss reveals one thing that is blatantly obvious. My sugar intake is out of control. I expected this, and I expected the decree that sugar, my one true love on this earth, would be ripped from my side for the remainder of my program. I thought of the stacks of candy in my freezer and how useless they’d be, the cookies in my jar to grow stale, and the Entenmann’s aisle that would have one less visitor. But, wanting be in “great” shape—running shirtless down the beach shape, head-turning shape, free from any semblance of a dad bod shape—would take sacrifice, and 10 weeks of being sugar-free seemed like a small price to pay for something I’d wanted for so long. Right? Right. And so, I bid adieu to sugar and said hello to bags of kale, a whole lot of fish, and a seemingly endless pile of peppers, cucumbers, onions, and their vegetable brethren.

The first chapter (each segment was referred to this way) was like a bomb to my social life, and that was my second lesson. When you’re on a diet, a program like this, or anything else that requires a true commitment, you sacrifice a lot. More than food. Going out to dinner, perhaps my favorite thing to do, now became a point of stress. I’d have to know where I was going, how the items were prepared, if there was any chance I would veer from the set path—in short, I had to be the customer every waiter dreads. Oh, and no alcohol. A few times I went to restaurants, but I eventually gave up on it. I resigned myself to cooking at home, which was satisfying and ostracizing at the same time. The regular cast of characters I ate meals with temporarily (I hope) fell off my radar. I’d planned to welcome them back with open arms, probably full of bread, when this was all over and me and my newly shredded abs could eat whatever I wanted.

For the first week or so, I felt like a newly-recovering addict.

Until then, me, myself, and I would wander the aisles of Whole Foods searching for new things to eat, dine alone on fish (so much fish), a shit-ton of vegetables (bless you, avocados), and not much else. All of those things would get filed into MyFitnessPal (a calorie tracking app) to be reviewed, tracked, and examined by the folks at CRF. For the first week or so, I felt like a newly-recovering addict. My head pounded, I yearned for sugar to the point of madness, I hungered for steak, for food with substance. My body was in withdrawal, and things I once found simple in the gym were suddenly monumentally hard. That unwelcome fatigue was my body on low-carb mode and low energy, and it completely sucked. My third lesson: It is going to suck. It’s the natural state of denying yourself what you want, and the chemical reality associated with withdrawal. If you’re setting off on a similar path, be prepared for mountains of suck, at least in the beginning.

A little into this thing I had dinner with my old colleagues. I'd been cooped up in my apartment alone for so long and one was visiting from out of town. I desperately wanted to go to a real-live restaurant, and of course, see my friends. They heard all about the diet after a flurry of questions when I ordered a club soda with lime at the bar. I told them about everything that I’d learned, and explained that whenever they see somebody who has shredded abs, or is in insanely good shape, that they’ve got no idea how much work that person has put in, how much they deny themselves, and how dedicated they are. Especially if they’re past, 25, let’s say. My former boss pondered that for a moment and said she knew it to be true, but she also mentioned that these people tended to be boring because they didn’t enjoy themselves as often as they should. And in the midst of this reunion with old friends, that sort of made sense, especially when gazing at a menu full of mouthwatering steak, fried morsels of heaven, and a cocktail list I desperately wanted to order from. As I said, I was born to eat, and eating with people, drinking with people, and sharing meals of food I love (food I was currently resisting) is perhaps my favorite past time. For the night, I’d have to make due with their company to enjoy myself. Sacrifice is real.

Settling In for the Long Haul##

Slowly, life settled into a rhythm of sleeping (rest is extremely important when it comes to getting fit and healthy), exercising, eating, working, and eating. I found clever excuses for avoiding the now-complicated meals out such as “No,” and “I’m tired,” or simply not responding and crying. It seemed easier to avoid hanging out with people who would tempt me with “bites” of their dessert or try and persuade me to drink. And it was far more enjoyable to sit at home than to weather questions about why I was abstaining from alcohol, or the mind numbingly dull queries from the person who just started paleo and wanted to know all about what diet I was on. Eventually, the rhythm became less of a challenge, and bordered on enjoyable. My body literally felt like a lean machine, running like an efficient, clean, and well-oiled contraption. I looked forward to my bi-weekly check-ins with CRF that would usher in a new chapter of foods to eat. (You don’t know the sheer joy of eating almonds until you can't have them.)

It takes a lot of patience, a monumental amount, to accomplish fitness goals.

More tests showed that though my body fat was down, and though I’d lost inches in my chest, stomach, and thighs, there was still a ways to go. I could see I was on the right track (even the faintest outline of an ab!), but was slightly disheartened at the speed at which I was traveling. But in that lies another lesson: It takes a lot of patience, a monumental amount, to accomplish fitness goals. Telling yourself you’re going to have a six pack a few weeks out from a vacation, or setting a time goal is good, it gives you something to work towards, but it also creates a potential for failure, disappointment, and some unrealistic expectations. About seven weeks into this, I realized that the shredded abs I was seeking would probably not come at the end of my 10 weeks.

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But, a lowered body fat percentage (almost sub 10!), and lost inches, and an overall better physique are good things. Maybe that mythical six pack would come in 15 weeks, maybe 20, maybe never. (They should revise that saying to “abs are made in the kitchen, low and slow.”) And as I learned in searching Reddit’s various fitness threads (something I do every morning), my body may not even have those exact Abercrombie ones I was chasing. Simply put: my muscles are different from everybody else’s. So are yours.

Eating in The Beyond

My CRF training is over. I’m leaving with a massively stronger understanding of what foods work well for my body, the amount of work required to really achieve fitness goals, and yes, a better looking body. But, the six pack I’d started out for? Not quite yet. I wish I could churn out a list of foods that would magically transform your midsection (along with exercise, there's no escaping that), but I can’t. I can only tell you that educating yourself about your diet will aid you enormously in your quest for fitness. Use what resources you can, you have the internet (I guess, since you’re reading this internet-only article). Find motivation and information in places like Reddit (despite what you may have heard, it’s an oddly supportive community), and information wherever you can whether that's from a trusted friend, a nutritionist, or doctor. And do so with the understanding that there is no way to cheat in any of this, and what works for one dude, another, and another, may not be for you.

Towards the end of the program, I was given guidelines for the beyond, where I'll be navigating the world of food without a spirit guide, without rules and restrictions. Like my colleague Ben Marcus, who famously did a six-day water fast, I found the guidelines pretty rigorous (although in this instance, not quite so harsh). And as far as I'm concerned, for the life I like to lead, they're too rigorous. Like Marcus, I'll be attempting the moderation thing. With a new understanding of food and its effects on not just my physique but my mood, stress, and well-being, it seems totally sustainable. And I know if I ever fall off the wagon and into a pillowy soft box of doughnuts, I can just hop back on the narrative CRF set for me.

II'll also caution you that there is a strong difference between being conscious about what you eat and being obsessive. Do not be obsessive, it can lead you to some wildly unhealthy habits that will ultimately do more harm than good. If you feel the urge to reward yourself with a peanut butter cup (a sweet sweet morsel from the heavens), or a whole pie, even, do it. Just understand that it's gonna set you back (duh). Unhealthy relationships with food are dangerous for many reasons and warping your eating habits to something abnormal isn't worth a six-pack.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go eat a steak dripping in maple syrup.

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