The cast of The Only Way Is Essex will tell you that the best way to get a summer bod which would make even Mark Wright jel is to follow the one cardinal rule: No Carbs Before Marbs. So, when my summer trip to Marbella was finalised, I chose my abs over the bakery section in Tescos. This is my story, and it is a tragic one.
The first day was fine. Wasn’t hungry, didn’t feel I was going out of my way or hugely altering my diet, except resisting the urge to chow down on a Danish mid afternoon. At dinner, while tucking into a bread roll, a friend revealed that bread counted as carbs. Apparently so did pasta (lunch) and cereal (breakfast). Further research revealed that wine and beer contained carbs. Almost any Oxford student can identify with the pivotal role which alcohol plays in maintaining one’s sanity, and after a quick qualification (no carbs before marbs, except for booze) we were back on track.
The first day was fine. Wasn’t hungry, didn’t feel I was going out of my way or hugely altering my diet, except resisting the urge to chow down on a Danish mid afternoon. At dinner, while tucking into a bread roll, a friend revealed that bread counted as carbs. Apparently so did pasta (lunch) and cereal (breakfast). Further research revealed that wine and beer contained carbs. Almost any Oxford student can identify with the pivotal role which alcohol plays in maintaining one’s sanity, and after a quick qualification (no carbs before marbs, except for booze) we were back on track.
Day two revealed that you had to eat a hell of a lot of fruit for it to count as a suitable breakfast. 12 apples later, and I was off to a lecture feeling hungry and a fairly acidic. By 6 o’clock I was miserable, tired and ravenous, deeming Camera to be the most effective pick me up I ventured out into the night with a bottle of vodka, in my belly.
The problem with alcohol is that it makes you do silly things: Steal bikes, take home stinkers and order unnecessary food. Rolling over to find a large yellow box with only one cheesy chip doused in bar-be-que sauce didn’t bode well for my new regime. Strangely enough taking home a stinker would have been a silver lining, at least I could probably have convinced myself that the latest munter had consumed the artery blocking cuisine. Alas, no, the bed was empty. And I hadn’t even stolen a bike to burn a few calories.
Surviving the next part of the week off the tail end of the Hassan’s, Saturday came and the cracks began to show. Having resisted multiple taunts from so called friends (read ‘frands’) they whipped out my Achilles heel: KFC. The colonel’s unique blend of 11 herbs and spices was too much, and before long an empty boneless banquet lay before me. No carbs before marbs was not working.
Its important to review failures in life so one may learn from one’s mistakes. There are three things I wish readers to take away from my tale. Primarily, no carbs before marbs is impossible for any human being. Unless from Essex. Next, only during dieting do you learn how sadistic human beings are. Finally, KFC is fantastic.
