Sugar Is Addictive. Really. By Adam Wilk

Professor Bart Hoebel of Princeton University is presenting new evidence based on a study he just concluded.

In the article, he concludes that the rats he performed the experiments on exhibited a new, telltale sign of addiction and abuse in addition to what he's already demonstrated:

'Until now, the rats under study have met two of the three elements of addiction. They have demonstrated a behavioral pattern of (1)increased intake and then showed signs of (2)withdrawal.
His current experiments captured (3) craving and relapse to complete the picture.'

Hoebel goes on to say, "If bingeing on sugar is really a form of addiction, there should be long-lasting effects in the brains of sugar addicts. Craving and relapse are critical components of addiction, and we have been able to demonstrate these behaviors in sugar-bingeing rats in a number of ways."

This is all very lovely to hear, but I think many of us already know this--as a matter of fact, let's take this a step further; how many of us haven't had a 'pure sucrose' solution (what the rats drank--I guess for us humans it would be equal to a 'real' soft drink, like any cola or energy drink or even chocolate milk, perhaps) in years, having switched to 'diet' or 'sugar-free' sodas, only to find the craving to still be very alive and kicking?

Could this be why low-carbohydrate diets can be torturous even for the most dedicated, strict and careful 'sugar-free' dieters?

Is the damage done in the years before going sugar-free too deep and far gone to be remedied? Is this destruction really permanent? And is it time for carbohydrate addicts to be given the same sort of classification alcohol and drug abusers are given?

And what does one do when the whole food supply is sweet, either naturally or artificially, under the guise of being 'healthful' and 'sugar-free'?

Oprah Winfrey, By Adam Wilk

Dearest Oprah,

You don’t know me and I don’t know you, but
I think I do know you and perhaps you do know me.

You say you’re “embarrassed” and that you’re “mad” at yourself for being overweight again--
You probably feel like you’ve done something wrong, and now the negative thoughts are busting through the gates of your emotional landscape.

But Oprah, nothing you’ve done is wrong.

What, with all those nutritionists, fitness experts, special chefs and other talents galore, you still feel like you’re on the losing end of your weight battle.
You say you’re giving up dieting—you must be so damn tired, you poor girl.

I ask you why, Oprah, why are you so upset at yourself?
You are who you are as much as I am me.

Can you not see how much you’ve done for the world and for me?
Your struggle is mine, and I’ve watched you fight all these years with nothing
But maximum heart and soul—throttling at full speed—answer seeking--it was yours for the giving.

Judge not yourself, Oprah, on your waistline, and please judge not your soul on
what you feed it, come the brightness of the day when all the world can see or
in the darkest of nights, when the only light around is that one glowing gently from within a gently humming refrigerator, offering illumination at one of life’s loneliest hours.

Think of all the wonderful things you’ve done, and how much you care and
How much you’ve shared, giving fulfillment to those who would not be better off
Without your lending hand, here and in foreign land.

Think not for a second any thoughts of gluttony, dear Oprah, for that’s reserved
For those feasting nightly on foie gras and caviar, enjoying thoughtlessly, without a care
In the world.
And depending on what you read or who you consult with, even daily consumption of those two delicacies may or may not indeed cause corpulence in one.

Don’t hide away, dear Oprah, and don’t let that golden smile wear a frown;
You’ve only illustrated how merely human you are, and how, despite
So many resources, time, and dedication, this problem we all call “fat” is perhaps bigger than all of our souls combined.

I wish you well, and good health—that is something you definitely deserve—
And I applaud your hard fighting and your deep struggle—I hope now you realize how
Your struggle has shone a light on what causes so many of us such darkness in our lives.

I'll Keep Taking My Vitamins, Thank You Very Much

From the NY Times, November 17, 2008:

Vital Signs
Vitamins Seen as No Help in Heart Disease

By NICHOLAS BAKALAR
Published: November 17, 2008
Many people take vitamins C and E in hopes of reducing their risk for heart disease, and some research supports those hopes. But a large long-term trial has found that the supplements work no better than placebos.

Scientists enrolled 14,641 male physicians in the study, dividing them into four groups of roughly 3,600 each. The first took 400 international units of vitamin E every other day and 500 milligrams of vitamin C daily; the second, vitamin E and a placebo vitamin C; the third took vitamin C and placebo vitamin E; and the last only placebos. Neither the subjects nor the scientists knew which groups were taking the active vitamins.

(Here's the rest of the article)

Ahem. 400 IU's of vitamin E every other day? 500 mgs. vitamin C daily?

What would Linus Pauling be saying now? "You're not serious, are you, Gentlemen?"

Do you think we'll ever see a study with actual therapeutic levels of these micronutrients used? I wonder what would happen if the participants were allowed to ingest say, between 6000-10,000 mgs. vitamin C daily and say, oh, I don't know, at least 1,200 IU's of vitamin E daily?

Maybe something wonderful would happen? Maybe not. At least it would be a fair analysis, no?

Trying Not To Feel The Need For Speed

So here I go dating myself again!



No, as the title of this post may be misinterpreted, I am not talking about drugs and I'm not talking about that Tom Cruise (pre-Scientology/anti-psychology??) flick from the glorious 1980's when I ventured from mere child to miserable, pimply, hormone-raging teenager in what felt like a hearbeat, but I am using probably one of the more familiar quotes from the film, "I feel the need for speed!"



Okay. Now that I got that reference to my lost youth out of my system, let's talk about applying that phrase to something I often wonder about as it relates to weight control and eating in general: Chewing.


Yes, I'll admit it right up front: despite my monumental efforts these last few years to slow down the pace at which I chew my food, for all intents and purposes, my attempts have failed.

Forget about me really chewing my food well if I'm more hungry than normal--I'm like one of them wood-grinding machines (those horrible things that make terrible noise when they gobble up little trees and branches?) if I've reached that point (which is another frequent mistake I make, too, but that's another post waiting to be written, nu?)


But even if I'm not absolutely famished, I just chew hard, fast, and with a frenzy reminiscent of a piranha attacking its prey. Terrible, eh?


So here's my question: since in the end, we're all basically animals in human form, is there truly a "right" speed for chewing your food? Will chewing your food longer allow you to absorb more nutrients with each meal, thus ensuring better health in the long run?


Does my mother-in-law (who I thinks eats way, way, too slowly) have a valid point when, upon us sitting down at her table for dinner, she pretends to say to all (but I know who you're talking to, ma'am) "let's eat slowly and enjoy our food tonight."?


Some people chew loudly. Some chew with their mouth wide open. I chew fast. Am I missing out on some of the "secondary, true" flavors of food that supposedly appear whilst one continues chewing and chewing? I don't know--the whole process, fast as it is for me, seems as natural as anything else.


I don't buy into the rationale that eating more slowly will allow time for the stomach to catch up to the brain--and even if this is indeed so, is this such a bad habit of mine that I can't seem to fix it, despite my repeated attempts?


Or am I fighting nature by trying to adjust my eating speed? Man, oh, man, I don't want to feel the need for speed!

Don't Shute The Messenger

I thought of the Shute brothers this morning when I read this article regarding vitamin E's unfair treatment throughout history, especially when it comes to so-called 'clinical' studies. The article begins like this:

Generations of studies on vitamin E may be largely meaningless, scientists say, because new research has demonstrated that the levels of this micronutrient necessary to reduce oxidative stress are far higher than those that have been commonly used in clinical trials.

In a new study and commentary in Free Radical Biology and Medicine, researchers concluded that the levels of vitamin E necessary to reduce oxidative stress -- as measured by accepted biomarkers of lipid peroxidation -- are about 1,600 to 3,200 I.U. daily, or four to eight times higher than those used in almost all past clinical trials.

Well, hallelujah; I kind of suspected this all along, because I'm sure there are vested interests out there who would gain from headlines claiming natural supplements/vitamins/naturals don't work. And of course, in my insane world of supplementation, more is always better!!! LOL

But there are good, qualified investigators out there who have taken the time to look deeply into the history and research; here are two reputable sources:

Bill Sardi's Knowledge of Health

Andrew Saul's Doctor Yourself

Even the great Linus Pauling had this to say about the work of the Shute brothers:

"In the 1950s the Schute brothers.......said vitamin E worked against heart disease and cerebrovascular disease. They were greeted with laughter. A couple of years ago, the Harvard School of Public Health ......showed that just 100 units of vitamin E per day decreased the death rate by 40 percent. ...... How many Americans would have been saved in the intervening 35 years had Harvard taken a responsible position and said, "We are skeptical of these claims but let's look at them"? But they wouldn't do that--it didn't fit their paradigm. So vitamin E was totally destroyed by the establishment. Think of the cost of those decisions."--Linus Pauling Interview by Peter Chowka 1996

We've all heard it over and over again; you can't always believe what you read in the headlines. You've got to always question motives and integrity when information is presented from so-called studies.

We see it all the time with low-carbohydrate dieting, don't we? What kills me is that these two doctors-brothers figured this all out back in the 1940's and 1950's.

Why the knowledge hold-back?

Why the desperate attempts to pound this powerful information into submission and oblivion?

I'll keep taking my vitamin E, thank you very much.

Geico Job Fair

“You’re going to do just great, honey, you’ll see. Come on, you’ve been doing this kind of work for over ten years—I bet you’ll talk circles around the other candidates there today,” my wife encouraged as I again attempted to close the uppermost button on my shirt—yes, the one that closes the collar and gets hidden by the tie.

I simply could not do it this morning—I had put on probably 20 or 30 pounds over the past few months, a result of a bad combination of being stressed out from job hunting, not paying attention to what I had been eating, and not focusing on what my scale would have told me.

“This looks okay, right?” I asked my spouse as I pulled tightly on my tie in a last ditch effort to give the illusion my collar button was closed—this was a trick I had grown accustomed to these last ten years, especially when God forbid a funeral needed attending to or another job interview was scheduled by yours truly.

“I can’t believe how fat I got, Cyn. When did this happen?”

“Well, you haven’t needed to wear one of these shirts in a while. Don’t worry, you’ll be wearing a suit over it—besides, you’ll charm them with your smile and your smarts—you’re worrying too much again,” she answered indirectly.

As I stuffed myself into my suit pants, I was feeling slightly overcome by anxiety—my thighs almost felt like your arm does when the doctor takes your blood pressure by way of those squeezing cuffs—tight. I also had managed to turn these nice looking pants into what looked like sausage casings.
But the good news was, I was able to close my pants. Of course, I took a deep, deep breath while fastening the button, but thank God, it closed.

Didn’t even need a belt this time.

I slid my jacket on and noticed how tight it felt around my shoulders. Forget about buttoning the jacket this time—that wasn’t happening.

“Sometimes when you take your clothes to the dry cleaners repeatedly they have a tendency to shrink a bit,” my wife offered in her most sincere, supporting way. But I had never heard of suits shrinking via being dry-cleaned. Sometimes my darling lady has a reality problem when it comes to hubby’s weight issues, but all in all, she means well.

“Yeah, right,” I chimed back pessimistically.

“Well, okay, then—I’m off to get a job today,” I said as I grabbed a folder containing a few copies of my newly updated resume along with a list of references willing to say a few nice things about me. (I paid them a lot of money; just kidding)

“You look so handsome, doll—you’re going to do just great. Don’t be nervous; just be yourself,” my wife gently mused as she put her two warm hands on my water-logged, swollen, freshly shaved face and kissed me.

“I love you, sweetie,” I mumbled while staring into her eyes, horrified at the prospect of potentially failing both her and myself on this endeavor.

I got into my car and began driving the 20 miles to the Geico headquarters building where the job fair was being held. As I commuted I began talking out loud, answering potential questions I knew were headed my way during the interview process.

Where do I see myself in five years? Well, I’m so glad you asked me that! You see…

Yes, the obligatory questions like that one that every one of us is forced to answer during an interview—I wonder if the interviewer knows what a stupid question that is to begin with—I mean, does the company really care where I’ll be or what I’ll be doing in five years?
But, I digress…

I arrived at the headquarters to find a jam-packed parking lot. The place was hosting a lot of people today, I noticed.

I found a decent spot, (i.e., I didn’t have to walk too far; God forbid I should exert myself a little bit, nu?) locked my car, took one last look at my heavy self in the driver’s side window, and proceeded to walk toward the building.

Jesus, they’re all so thin, I immediately thought to myself upon entering the registration area—it was really packed here.

It’s funny, many claim that fat people like me don’t notice enough of our external and internal cues—I respectfully disagree, as was the case here—it was the first thing I noticed when I walked in, just how fat I looked and felt in my suit and how good everyone else, male and female, appeared (to me, anyway)

People were filling out registration/application forms anywhere they could find space. I picked one up at a desk, found a quiet corner, and used the folder I was hanging onto for dear life as a makeshift clipboard. I noticed the folder was slightly damp from my clammy hands—I think this happened upon me noticing the ‘normal’ looking crowd around me.

The trick to these job fairs is to get past the first round of interviewers—the screeners, they call them.

Well, I did just that. After about an hour of waiting, my group (I think they arranged us by the first letter of our last names—this day is still a bit of a blur to me, I'm sorry to say, except for a few key things) was called to meet with the screeners.
I was one of the first people to sit down in front of one.

He was a young gentleman in a suit that was actually a bit big on him. But he looked so professional and yes, very comfortable. And I'm sure his collar button must have easily closed when he got dressed this morning, unlike the hefty gentleman sitting across from him, struggling to hold everything in.

Yes, I felt every inch of my clothes—from my shirt to my suit jacket to my pants bulging with agony, being stretched to maximum capacity. I think I might have even been breathing slightly shallower in a last-ditch effort to take the strain off whatever was holding my outfit together.

But the good news was, he liked me—or shall I say, my skill set, based on the work history my resume told. Plus, he and I clicked pretty well.

I chose my words carefully and slowly, and without sounding arrogant, got across the fact that I was indeed a professional to be valued by this organization. I was going to be a diligent, hard worker and team player, as well.

“Well, Adam, it looks to me like you’re exactly the kind of person we need here at Geico; I really don’t need to say anymore—you have everything we’re looking for here,” he said as he stood up excitedly and extended his hand toward me.

I happily and semi-confidently shook his hand as he gently nudged me toward another back room, where the hiring managers were seated—these were the people who had the power to hire you on the spot.

I gleefully strolled into the next room and noticed how much less noisy it was in there; as a matter of fact, it was eerily quiet; there were about maybe 10 or 12 people seated in a row being interviewed face to face with a hiring manager and probably another 10 waiting their turn. I sat down in the waiting area and studied again my competition:

Fattest one in the room again, eh? Hmm…don’t worry, man—you’ve got brains, you’ve got talent, and you’ll dazzle ‘em with your personality. So what if you don’t look like one of them GQ guys—you’re gonna kick ass, my man, I meditated, desperately trying to give myself any kind of edge over this normal, healthy, smaller-looking stocked pond chock full of beautiful people in suits—dressed in suits that fit them well, too.

“Adam?” one of the hiring managers called out after finishing with a candidate.

“It’s Showtime, baby,” I mumbled to myself as I got up out of my chair and clutched my sweaty personnel folder.

You got it in the bag, man, I surmised.

And with that, as I inched closer to the table where the hiring manager stood smiling and waiting to greet me, my pants button popped right off.

Now, the button flying off me didn’t make much noise—it was because the room was so quiet that the sound of the button hitting the floor and bouncing a few times made some kind of sick sort of clicking sound—again, probably not much of a noise, but it was a terrible sound to me.

Of course, today was the one day I decided not to wear a belt. Oh come on, who am I kidding? I didn’t have any more belts that fit me, for God’s sake. Let’s be truthful now.

So, without a belt to hold me together, my fly began to unzip all by itself. It seemed to madly dash south bound with the next step I tried to take, as I desperately tried pretending none of this was happening to me.

In my mind, I was convinced the hiring manager was smirking at my spectacle. She was, after all, waiting to greet me with a smile. At this point I had no choice but to reach down and grab the front of my pants, since my zipper kept on rolling down.

Before I knew it, I had totally stopped in my tracks, standing there like a fool trying to hold his pants up. I felt like everyone in the room was watching and perhaps even snickering behind my back. Maybe I would have too, had it not been me.

I needed this job badly. And it was mine for the taking, too. I had the experience and know-how. I was hire-worthy. Today.

But right now, I stood frozen in my tracks, paralyzed with humiliation. I looked at the hiring manager, took a deep breath and mustered a meek “excuse me, I’ll be right back,” as I slowly, methodically, and carefully headed out where I came in from.

All I remember is that I kept on walking. I didn’t dare stop until I got back to my car. There was absolutely no thought involved here. I was running on pure emotion and adrenalin. No rethinking of anything. No going back inside.

I turned the ignition key and headed out of the parking lot. Again, no thoughts or emotions. I was driving while dead; just focused on the road taking me back home.

I’ll just tell Cyn they didn’t handle the job fair right, that they made us wait too long to speak to someone, that there weren’t any jobs left, that I wasn’t really qualified, that they were looking for specific skill sets, whatever…my brain began to slowly process again.

When I finally got home I had a whole list of reasons to give my wife about why I didn’t come home with a hire letter—hell, I was so ready to bullshit her, so focused on not telling her about my humiliation and how I had screwed myself up with my weight, that I had completely forgotten to stop holding my pants up and to not let her see what had gone wrong.

But she knew from my teary, welled-up eyes and from how hard I was gripping my pants that something had gone horribly wrong. Seeing the look on my face, I think she knew what had happened.

And her eyes grew misty, too, as she walked toward me slowly and gently put her arms around mine and whispered, “it’s okay, baby, it’s okay.”

Lipitor For The Little

Check this one out:

15 Month Old Kids Should Have Cholesterol Test

A person's first cholesterol test should take place when he/she is 15 months old, according to an article in the British Medical Journal (BMJ). The authors explain that familial hypercholesterolemia, high LDL cholesterol levels that runs in families, carries a significant risk of death from coronary heart disease.

Approximately 2 out of every 1,000 people have familial hypercholesterolemia. There are treatments available today which can decrease the risk of death from coronary heart disease for such people. Scientists at Barts and the London Queen Mary's School of Medicine and Dentistry, UK, examined 13 prior studies which focused on total and LDL cholesterol in people with and without familial hypercholesterolemia, involving 1,907 cases and 16,221 controls.

They wanted to find out how effective screening might be, and if so, at what age. For screening to be most effective, the authors wrote, it needs to be done when a child is aged between 1 and 9 years. At this age screening detects 88% of individuals with familial hypercholesterolemia. The researchers found that the screening of young adults or newborns was far less effective.

Here's the whole article.

Hey, at least they waited until your child was at least one year old, nu?

I wonder (please, fellow bloggers and friends, feel free to educate me...) if toddlers at that age naturally have higher cholesterol readings since they're quite different than adults and are in a higher rate of growth? I always thought cholesterol was the glue that held our skin and bones and cells together--but hey, what do I know, right?

Seems like a lot of kids to test for something the article claims is quite rare...