Coping with cravings: Think of them as square turds.

So now's when the pain hits. Hard. Right around....3:10pm on a Tuesday.

Sure, I'm a detox rock star in the morning: I get up, enjoy some quiet, have hot water and lemon, after my shower. Pick up a Supa Dupa Green Drink from Juice Generation around the corner. Easy peasy, right?

Just when I start to get hungry, well, it's going to be a lunch-before-noon kind of week. That's fine. I pack a sound, solid lunch of brown rice, some greens, and smoked trout (this is the easiest, tastiest thing--you buy it in the seafood section, all sealed up and you just pop it open. Lunch). Ah. I'm full. This isn't so bad.

And THEN...it hits. I'm not hungry, but I feel an unmistakable craving--it starts small, like a single violin whining its sad little tune, "I want chocolate. I want cookies." And I say no. Then a few more strings join in and it's a full quartet, and then there's a piano playing, a bass guitar, a trumpet, and now the drums start in, a full brass band and an opera, and a weepy rock ballad all begging--please--for just a little sugar! Sugar! Sugar!

In a panic I bought some of that Naked Juice in the cafeteria. It's fruity and delicious, and well within the bounds of detox. A handful of nuts. A banana. And then I went to the kitchen to refill my tea, and there they were, grinning at me like someone who knows my number's up: A plate of brownies. Perfect, moist, chocolatey brownies.

May I remind you of where I work? Martha Stewart Omnimedia headquarters. That means they're not just any brownies. They're test-kitchen brownies. I refilled my mug quietly, keeping my eyes averted. "DO NOT LOOK AT THEM. DO NOT." I stole a glance as I dragged myself out of the room. The music soared in my ears, a symphony of want--"But just one! Just a bite! A corner!"

Nope. I'm proud to say that I did NOT give in. And you know how I did that? A little tip, which I shared with my coworker (after of course sharing my pain and torture by TELLING her there were brownies in the kitchen): I thought of them as perfectly formed square turds. That's right: Dog doo. Poo on a plate. Replusive--and enough to shut off your sugar switch. Temporarily at least.

But I feel I must add here: I am not for a life without brownies! But this is a special week--it's a time when you get to test your mettle, see if you can, for the sake of being in control, take back the reins and decide what you will and will not do. And my decision was made.

I consider this a small victory.

Stay strong!

Terri Trespicio
Senior Editor
Body+Soul