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 fist-bumping seven and eight-year-olds 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 X-rays. 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 plantbased 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 plant-based, 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.