Call me Herb, Herb I. Vore
My foot was the size and colour of a Canadian Coast Guard icebreaker.
That’s the type of injury to be expected after running a 42-kilometre ultra-marathon during which you flee starving alligators, hopscotch across hot lava and save a family from a guy phoning to see if their Windows was running.
Unfortunately, the swelling and pain in my left hoof involved no such athleticism, adventure or action-heroism.
I actually had no clue what caused said injury, but concede I may have hurt it coaching, not playing, baseball.
Standing by first and fistbumping seven and eight-yearolds as they reach base really is more physically challenging than you realize.
Guaranteed it was part of Conor Mcgregor’s training regime for the Mayweather fight, although I fear the language he might have used in front of the kids.
Whatever the cause of my injury, the pain in my foot escalated to the point where I would rather watch “The View” than stand up.
That, dear reader, is some kind of agony.
I went to see my doctor, instead of sawing it off with a Jamie Oliver knife.
He wasn’t exactly sure what was going on, and decided to treat me for a sprain.
If it didn’t clear up in a few days, he was sending me for Xrays.
Then the topic switched to my weight.
“Doc,” I asked, “this might be less painful if I dropped a few pounds. And I don’t want to be coming to your office regularly. I need to lose weight. I’ve tried everything. Do you have any suggestions?”
He offered up the idea of adopting a plant-based diet, so I ate him in a single gulp, a procedure for which he likely billed the provincial government.
OK, I was a carnivore, but not a cannibal and, although “Silence of the Lambs” is my favourite movie, I didn’t really eat my doctor.
Instead, I ate his words — that he’s got some patients on plant-based diets who are losing weight and seeing improved health.
“They are still eating some chicken and fish a couple of times a week,” he explained, “but most of their meals are plantbased, and they only eat red meat once a month or so.”
I was interested, but I LOVE steak to the point where I just all-capped and italicized the world “love,” and I’ve carved “SB + PR = True Love Always” in the deck railing next to my barbecue.
“PR” is prime rib’s initials. But sitting in doc’s office with my foot swelling and stomach bulging, I began giving plant-based eating some serious thought.
“I should give this serious thought,” I told myself.
I did, and then decided to give it a try.
Seventeen days later — outside of two meals that included chicken, one that involved cod and a single slice of pepperoni pizza at the kids’ baseball banquet — all of my meals have been plant based.
That’s a significant reduction in animal proteins, and to be honest, it hasn’t been that hard.
The biggest challenge was a walking past a sale on prime rib this weekend. “True love always,” I whispered to the steaks. “We’ll get together for a one-off some day soon.”
Seriously though, the plantbased meals have been tasty and there’s a little less of my waisty (apologies for the unexpected rhyme).
I’ve lost a few pounds, and my foot is better (although the swelling likely wasn’t diet related).
Best of all, I feel more alert and energetic.
Please don’t tell my wife about the latter though. I’m thinking about saving the extra energy for that ultra-marathon.