Ever since I started running a few months ago, I’ve been finding that my sugar addiction has slowly dwindled. At first it was nothing. If someone brought in treats I’d only have one instead of two (or three). But now the problem has spiraled out of control. The candy dish on my desk actually contains candy. The bag of whoppers that arrived at my house on saturday still remains intact in the fridge, missing only about five of the chocolatey lumps. Usually something like that would not have lasted much more than seven minutes, nevermind seven days. Earlier this week I drew shocked stares when I actually refused something sugary.

I just don’t know what to do with myself.

Do I have to give back the craving chocolate mug that my friend sent me? Is my sugarfiend t-shirt destined for some dark lonely back corner of my closet, usually reserved for presents from well-meaning relatives with no taste¹?

The only thing that has escaped this horror is my tea, which I still drink with three sugars. Although even in that respect I cannot compete with my friend who puts six sugars in his tea.

¹Thankfully, I actually have none of these. The ones with no taste, I mean, not the well-meaning ones. You know what I mean.