March 14: Just made up my mind to give sugar up. Just like that. Considered all the health benefits -- then threw all the canvas bags of sugar over the gunnels. Ship considerably lighter, easier to steer. I imagine this is what the captain of The Golden Hind felt all the time. The crew grumbled. But I told them it’s all good -- I stowed away stevia for our breakfast smoothies. And we’re going to start a morning cardio workout on the forecastle.
March 18: Crew testy, hard tack breakfast smoothies “not enough,” they want rum…and donuts. I should keelhaul all of them for not caring about their blood sugar or resting heart rate.
March 19: No one joined me for Cardio Abs.
March 24: Was that an albatross that flew over us at 0900 hours or the spread white wings of an angel food cake, light as when I was a boy? The doc says no, it was neither a flying cake nor an albatross. He identified it as an “albino frigate bird,” but he’s a know-it all little shit, like Darwin was, probably.
March 24 (like five minutes later): Question: Did they have pudding aboard The Beagle? Never mind. I need to focus my attention on my Pilates 100s.
March 30: Did captainish stuff, like putting the doc in irons and rereading Proust --- just the madeleine parts. I read about sugar cookies from France in the shape of tongues until my candle sputtered out leaving a fragrance not unlike…dare I say it? It is a love that dare not speak its name!?! Boardwalk Salt Water Taffy.
April 2: All of us weak; some of the worse-off men calling out for their mother’s “apple cake,” “linzer torte” or “mango rice,” depending on port of origin. There is wildness in their eyes.
April 3: I miss my mother’s pecan sandies. I have had to clamp my hand over my mouth to prevent myself from shouting, “Mommy, I want another pecan sandie. Please!” and disturbing the faith of my men.
April 5: I fear mutiny, but the men’s HDL/LDL cholesterol ratio is much improved and my resting heart rate is the lowest it’s ever been so….that’s something, I told them. Someone, I think it was Willikers the mizzenman -- my eyesight is hazy -- tried to pick up a cannonball and heave it at my head, but being weak in body and mind, he lurched over the gunnel.
April 7: I netted a kilo of brown algae and formed it into shapes approximating petit fours, hoping to appease the men. But the doc (I now realize he has zero “people skills”) said in a loud voice, “Capt’n, that’s genus sargassum, and not fondant”; and the men panicked.
April 10 (drifting): I tried to get my men to take their pre-diabetes seriously and their chronic inflammatory conditions, but they heaved me into this raft, with my log and pen, a bottled water. Should be sad. But look at my obliques! Dribbled a little water over the raft’s prow, dubbing it Glute.
My plan: I am drifting in that general direction of South Beach (I think) so it will only be a matter of time before I’m going to have a smoothie with a wheatgrass shot, do some power jacks, check my pulse. Then I’m going to refurbish that sinking ship The Quinoa, get a crew of good-looking health and fitness professionals. Do a circumnavigation sugar- and gluten-free with people who care.