Jed Wolf

I have an addictive personality. Like water flowing downhill, I’ve always found the quickest path to relief from my dark moods. Most friends know about my struggles—the cigarettes at age ten, followed by alcohol and drugs. What I’ve only recently come to understand is that the pattern started even earlier, with secret binges on candy, Ring Dings, and endless PB&J sandwiches.

I’ve never been significantly overweight, probably because I’ve stayed active. But staying thin doesn’t mean staying healthy. By my mid-forties, I had survived two heart attacks and gained seven stents. Standing at that crossroads, I faced a choice: medication or radical change. I chose change. First went the Marlboro Lights, then gradually, the drinking.

A total hip replacement in my early fifties forced me to reconsider my relationship with exercise. I started going to the gym regularly, but something unexpected happened. The more I worked out, the more ravenous I became. I blamed it on burning calories—seven hundred per session, according to the machines. But that wasn’t the whole story. Through trial and error, I discovered it wasn’t just how much I ate, but what I ate. The combination of certain foods and intense aerobics created a perfect storm of cravings.

Sugar was the first to go. The withdrawal was brutal but brief—just a few days of feeling like my skin was too tight for my body. Then, clarity. Even with my intense workouts, the cravings disappeared. I experimented with pasta, thinking I could handle “just a little.” One bowl led to three days of obsessing over carbonara. A teaspoon of honey in my tea became a week of sweetness-seeking behavior. The pattern was familiar—it was addiction wearing a different mask.

Now I look at food the way a recovering alcoholic looks at beer. Friends push plates toward me, saying, “Have a piece of homemade pie. You only live once.” They don’t understand that for me, one piece isn’t just one piece—it’s days of mental warfare, of fighting the urge to dive back into that sugary embrace. I politely decline, knowing that temporary pleasure isn’t worth the cost of peace.

This morning, eating my pre-gym breakfast of plain oatmeal with half a banana, I caught myself thinking, “What’s missing from this loveless gruel?” The thought made me smile. What’s missing is the chaos of addiction, the roller coaster of cravings. In its place is something better: freedom.