Why I (Mostly) Don’t Eat Animals

It’s not why you think.

It’s kind of hard to believe I (mostly) stopped eating animals (and consuming (most) dairy) twelve entire years ago. It’s also hard to believe I’m going to be 41 this year, and then 82 every year after.

If you’re a longtime reader, you’d be forgiven for thinking I began my meatless journey for all the noble reasons I write about here every week, but you’d be wrong.

It’s not that — or, it wasn’t. A lot has changed in these twelve years. For example, my achilles hurt when I woke up this morning, but didn’t hurt last night, and I don’t understand why.

Anyways — the meatless (or “plant-based”) decision and the landscape surrounding it (often literally) is one I get asked the most about, so it seems prudent to finally share why I did it, why I stuck with it, and all of the benefits and obstacles along the way.

Last, a heads up: there’s a lot of ableist bullshit in here from me. It just happens to be a big part of the story.

In the beginning:

My family exercises so we can eat, full stop. We love to cook, we love to sweat, we love to eat, and for a very long time, there was very little discrimination as to what was on the table.

Eighteen years of that, and then college, where I was a sprinter on the swim team, and an outfielder in club college baseball. But I also added 15 pounds of muscle to play a (fast) flanker in rugby in college and briefly after.

Four years after I (barely) graduated, I was still armed with a body that could perform, that was pretty adaptable to whatever I wanted to do with it, and which required 4000 calories a day. #blessed

“I can do this all day”, I thought, foolishly.

All that muscle went away (but the number on the scale didn’t) as I worked my first jobs in London and then 2006 New York, absolutely inhaling Ess-A-Bagels, chicken parms, and Frappucinos on the daily. I was clocking 12+ hours just sitting at my desk, drinking and going out and not really sleeping most nights because YOLO.

You get the idea. It was great, but I was increasingly in uncharted territory, fitness-wise. I felt terrible.

In 2008, a close cousin was diagnosed with leukemia, and I was jolted out of my debauchery, desperate to do…something. What could I do? As I make clear here, I’m not a doctor or a scientist.

Over and over, I asked the question you all ask me:

What can I do?

The answer: I could sweat.

I signed up to train and fundraise with Team in Training, part of the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society, where I met incredible humans, raised $60,000, and competed in the NYC Triathlon. It was an incredible experience. I was back.

Two months later, I met my future-wife at a Caribbean wedding. I was in sick shape. I tried to impress her by racing (and beating) a (slow) boat. She didn’t care (the first of many), but I was riding high. When it was over, I flew away on a goddamn seaplane. It was romantic, I was killing it.

Two months after that, one of my best friends was diagnosed with cancer.

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