Confessions of a Diet hacker - Part I

There is a lot of drivel out there on what constitutes the 'perfect diet'. My intention here is not to add to it. I merely wish to share the wondrous drama of my recent attempt at diet 'hacking' (apologies if I've misappropriated a term of the moment). My reasons for this are that a) writing about it helps me come to terms with it, and b) there might be something in the detritus beyond a generous measure of gossip.

HEALTH WARNING: this is not an advice column on how to lose weight and quickly. Nor do I deign to proselytise on what you should and shouldn't eat. It's simply one woman's rocky and windy journey to getting to know her body from the inside out. If you wish to skip the tummy-turning details and head straight to the light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel wherein lies all the wisdom, you're very welcome. But you'll have to wait until Part III.

As for the rest of you (you nosy parkers!), hold on tight to your seats and stomachs!

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Before I begin, I'd like to erase any doubt that I'm a dyed-in-the-wool food lover. I'm a terrible food TV junkie. I wish to know where Nigel Slater lives so that I may stalk him or at least find a sneaky back entrance to his kitchen garden. I read Jay Rayner's brilliant restaurant reviews whenever I need cheering up despite the fact that I'll probably never go to those restaurants since it's easy enough in London to live beyond one's means without eating out.

If, in the past, I ever felt the need to 'clean up' my lifestyle, the last place I'd police is the food cupboard. There would always hang a 'Please do not disturb' sign, making it a true last resort.

Unfortunately that last resort came knocking in October 2013. And it was grim, like the reaper.

The gory preamble

By that time, I knew things weren't going all that well 'down there'. I had been suffering from some truly undignified IBS symptoms (that's Irritable Bowel Syndrome for those lucky enough not to know!). At the same time, my left middle finger and right ring finger became semi-permanently adorned with a weird sort of eczema, known as pompholyx. To top it off, my sinuses were chronically stuffed whether or not it was hay fever season. My ears itched like they had little worms living in them and my pores were having their gizillionth oil bonanza. For a 29-year-old, this sign of unending youth was just embarrassing.

Yet to the best of my knowledge, I had been following the conventional wisdom on how to live happily and healthily. I was getting my 7-8 hours of sleep every night – albeit interrupted by semiconscious mumbling and certain night 'incidents' that were scary enough to put my horror-movie-loving bedfellow on edge. I was taking moderate-to-intense exercise 5-6 days a week. I drank so much water I had to visit the loo every hour or so like an incontinent granny. I steered clear of alcohol. And to sooth the eczema, I ditched steroids for a witch's brew of hemp oil, olive oil, safflower seed oil, nettle and chamomile that has made one mother rich.

On the surface, I wasn't even particularly naughty when it came to what I was ingesting. One cup of coffee every day, nothing excessive. A slice of cake and sugary drink, every other day – okay, could do better. But I figured that by exercising loads, all that excess glucose, fructose, sucrose and whatever else you can call sugar would be burned and sweated out, right? I also made sure I got my 5-a-day serving of fruit and veg. Finally, if I had an addiction (aside from sugar), it was to healthy, hearty oats. Every meal could be a bowl of oats.

In other words, I felt that I had got The Big Picture right. Yet I was still beset by said gastrointestinal upsets and skin disruptions.

So on one fine grey, autumnal day, I told myself I had to succumb to the bullet and do IT. In other words, to go on a Detox – my first ever. My attitude toward detoxing had always been one of great scepticism – perhaps a convenient veil over my visceral dislike of voluntarily denying myself based on the recommendations of people with dubious credentials. I mean am I not right in saying that only quacks would recommend liquid vegetable diets?

But what I was about to put myself through reached far beyond trying on the latest fad designed to test my sanity. No, my self-diagnosis (thank you very much Internet!) told me I needed to consider something altogether more dramatic. Drumroll please. It would amount to making a lifestyle change, and a [insert suitable expletive] blitzkreig of a detox would be at the heart of it. No doubt it was going to be a scary experience, maybe even existential in its fallout.

Not for the weak stomached, then. Which was exactly what I had (see Part II).

In the beginning...

By design, I began hacking my diet during the run-up to my wedding (and Christmas) in order so that I could look amazing for the former. In hindsight, the decision of timing was either incredibly foolish or the best thing ever (see Part III). The detox lasted a paltry 36 days. Here's how it all happened. (See Part II for how it all fell apart.)

On 31 October, I started my elimination diet, beginning with gluten and dairy. Or rather I tried to eliminate gluten given that it is in practically everything, including sausages, soya sauce, stock and oats - which are by nature gluten-free! Although I love bread, I found it easy enough to give up the loaf thinking I still had 'gluten-free' options. But I soon discovered that gluten-free breads taste rank, are highly processed and have dubious nutritional value.

Then after about a week, I began to feel better. I no longer suffered from the so-called 'brain fog', an unpleasant intoxification effect that anyone who has ever fallen asleep on the couch after a particularly indulgent meal can attest to. My bowels also seemed to be working better albeit not perfectly.

But the eczema dug in its blistering heels.

Given my symptoms, I researched what else I might be allergic or intolerant to (the two are not the same!) Crikey! The offending candidate could be any number of things. All nuts, caffeine, eggs, corn, soya beans... even garlic and lentils.

For reasons I forget now, I eventually settled on yeast as the missing offender. I tested this theory out by slipping into my soup a store-bought (gluten-free) stock cube. And what do you know? I promptly broke out into something resembling hives on my lower back. Little chicken skin-like bumps also appeared on the backs of my arms. Sexy.

So problem solved? No gluten, no yeast. I was free to go on and live my life.

Not so fast! I had yet to experience a watershed moment in the form of a conversation I had with one of my fellow qigong students. The woman, for the record, is a wellspring of knowledge when it comes to the subject of clean living. She lives an unconventional life, fasts intermittently and distills her own water, that sort of thing. But she looks 10 years younger than she is and her abundant energy is otherworldly.

Unfortunately, as soon as I told her the story of my skin and stomach woes, she came right out and said that I had Candidiasis. A yeast overgrowth.

So I had been half right.

But Candidiasis was bad news for the food lover in me. Very bad news indeed.

Enter Mr Albicans, chief villain

Apparently we are not alone in our bodies but have for company some 100 trillion microbes.

Candida albicans is the name of one type of fungus that lives in the human gastrointestinal tract. Everyone, even healthy individuals, have some quantity of this critter making hay in their gut flora. However, Mr Albicans is a particularly nasty and opportunistic brute. Like cockcroaches, it has a strong will to survive and thrive at the expense of others. Several factors are believed to lead to its overgrowth, which can cause all sorts of health problems affecting the immune system.

Overdosing on antibiotics, for instance, can not only wipe out the bad germs but also destroy the 'good' ones that are crucial in aiding digestion, flushing out toxins and preventing cancer. But guess what survives this annihilation? Yes it's Mr Albicans. Not only does it survive, it gains dominion. 

In fact, modern living in general seems to put us at risk: taking oral contraceptives for women, stress and eating a diet high in sugar and refined carbs. Unfortunately, I'd been guilty of every kind of Albicans baiting, bar doping on antibiotics. Then again, I must have eaten a fair share of vaccinated chickens...

I was definitely exhibiting many of the symptoms of Candidiasis. If I tell you what these are I risk losing all my sex appeal. But here goes: bloating, diarrhea, constipation, brain fog, fatigue, oral and vaginal thrush, itchy ears, problems concentrating, anxiety, acne and eczema... In fact, when reading through the impossibly long list of symptoms, one begins to wonder who isn't suffering from some form of fungal imperialism!

How exactly does a yeast overgrowth cause so much trouble? One popular theory, known as the 'leaky gut syndrome' is that our friend Mr Albicans has particularly solid legs that attach onto the thin gut lining of our intestines, boring holes in the process. These holes then increase the likelihood of undigested food particles and proteins, such as gluten, and toxins that should really be excreted through the 'back passage' infiltrating the bloodstream. The body then thinks these intruders are foreign pathological substances and sends its infection-fighting brigade to neutralise the leakage. This inevitably sends the body into a tizz, causing inflammation, which can be exhibited anywhere from the skin to the brain.

Me vs Mr Albicans

Worst of all possible worlds.

Based on the suspicion that my body was overrun by a fungal fiend, I was driven to turbocharge my detox in order to choke it to a messy death. Being gluten-free was no longer enough of a weapon. I had to eliminate sugar and carbs as well. That's because Mr Albicans loves sugar and carbs. Not only that, the greedy bugger likes all carbs. No matter how complex – including fruits – carbs eventually metabolise into a form of sugar.

So out went all grains, including oats and rice, as well as starchy vegetables like my beloved sweet potato. Alcohol, being essentially liquid sugar, is the drink of the devil. Yeast (e.g. in vinegar and all those lovely Asian sauces) is also an obvious no-no as are most nuts, which attract mould and are hyperallergenic. Dairy, containing lactose, a sugar, is also BAD, as is soya sauce because - again - it contains gluten. No soya sauce? My forthcoming trip to Hong Kong was going to be well fun.

Worst of all, I had to give up chocolate and coffee! Whatever else might be bad about the latter, it seems pretty certain that coffee beans – especially the bad quality stuff – and mould (and the mycotoxins they produce) make great bedfellows.

Ummmmm.... I mean Ommmmm!

So I was officially on route to becoming one of those oft-caricatured yogi-types who sip Ayurvedic herbal remedies all day. (Yes, I do yoga.) But at least I had some choice when it came to tea. In fact, I went a bit overboard with my purchases after thinking I would never be able to eat again. I cleared an entire bench in our kitchen to make way for teas containing cinnamon, liquorice root, ginger, fennel, dandelion, chicory root and the anti-Candida dynamo, Pau D'arco. Then there were the more familiar caffeine-free teas: peppermint, camomile, rooibos. I stopped short of trying a quietly touted alternative to coffee: dandelion root coffee. If I can't have the real thing, why bother (she says tearfully)?

Like I mentioned in the introduction to this post, the scary thing was that there was no knowing how long I'd have to live life as an ascetic. After all I was fighting a Very Powerful Nemesis. Even a smidgen of the sweet stuff could be enough to send me behind enemy lines.

Fuel of the Fury – a survival guide

Not kidding.

So what was left then? Was there any point in me looking at another plate of food?

Needless to say, when one uses the internet in place of professional advice given by someone in the flesh, one is bound to face a Pandora's Box of conflicting information. Wading through it all felt a bit like having to find green shoots while trudging through snow that had fallen to knee height. But after much effort, bordering on unhealthy obsession (see Part II), I managed to papier-mâché together a survival guide.

The resulting diet felt scarily macho and suspiciously Paleo diet (easy on the bacon though my friends!). It was bulked up with lean proteins, wild fish, heart-friendly fats, fats that made you burn fat(!), and a forest of raw greens, some of them completely alien to me. I quickly became well-versed in all things 'wild', 'raw', 'cold pressed', 'grass fed', 'extra virgin'... The food had to be as nutrient-dense and unadulterated as is possible when you're not yet growing your own and keeping cows and chickens on a nice chunk of virgin land...

So here is the list of 'inoffensive' foods that I more or less stuck with for 36 days:

• Leafy vegetables like spinach, rocket and kale (nasty stuff)
• Cruciferous vegetables like broccoli and cauliflower
• Wild (not farmed) salmon
• Organic, free-range poultry (it was really hard to find the grass-fed kind)
• Organic free-range egg yolks (egg whites are potential gut villains apparently)
• Good unsaturated fats from avocado, olive oil (but none of that newfangled stuff like canola and sunflower)
• Good saturated (medium-chain) fats, like coconut oil
• Essential fatty acids, like omega-3s (4:1 ratio of omega-3s to omega-6s) from chia seeds and linseed
• Spices: turmeric, cinnamon, cayenne, ginger, cumin
• Anti-fungals: coconut oil, garlic, apple cider vinegar
• Alkalising foods like lemon but otherwise NO fruits
• Seeds and nuts except tree nuts (so only macadamias)
• Anything fermented with a healthy dose of good bacteria: kaffir, sauerkraut, kimchi
• Good quality mineral or sea salt (the extra fastidious go for the pink-coloured Himalayan salt)
• Homemade chicken or beef bone broth
• Water (at least 2 litres a day and distilled if possible)

… and a frightening smorgasbord of other anti-fungal, anti-bacterial, anti-inflammatory treats that nature has kindly lavished upon us. Anything to KILL the candida!

But my shopping list didn't end there. As I no longer had fibre from grains, and eating plenty of veg perversely slowed everything down, I bought fibre (inulin) in a jar. I also heeded the advice of healthy gut activists by adding to my daily regime probiotics, minerals (like calcium, magnesium, potassium and zinc) and vitamins (Vitamin A, B complex, C, D, E), and 'superfoods' like chlorophyll-rich chlorella omega-3-abundant chia seeds and an amino acid called L-glutamine. It's easy to imagine the whopping great hole this new 'lifestyle' left in my wallet (I can still smell the embers). It also left me with the need to purchase a pillbox lest I never leave the house again.

Stay tuned for the fallout in Part II.