Eight months ago, I gave up Diet Pepsi. I was an addict, barely managing a +2 litre/day habit. I was rarely seen without DP, I dragged it to every party and complained (mostly to myself, but sometimes not) when beverages would be put out for a meeting and DP wasn’t included. If I ran out, if there was none in the house…I thought constantly about when and where I was going to get more. I couldn’t tell you how many litres of diet pepsi home from the grocery store or how my little heart pounded wildly when it went on sale for $0.88/bottle. I drank it in the morning. I drank it in the evening. I drank it before bed and if I woke up thirsty in the afternoon, I’d drink more.

It was nuts. I knew it was nuts but I couldn’t help myself. Or, at least, I didn’t think I could.

I went on vacation in July, visiting my sister and meeting friends in Montreal. I went through at least 18 cans of DP while staying with my sister and I packed what remained of the second case when I left for Montreal. It was hot, damn hot, and I felt miserable even as I tried to drink a bit of water to ensure hydration.

Here’s the thing — with the amount of DP I was drinking, hydration just wasn’t possible. By the time the end of my vacation rolled around I felt crummy. I’m sure I felt the same way at home but it didn’t matter there. There were lots of things to make me feel crappy at home, so the DP-crappiness was overlooked.

The day before we left Montreal I read an article about pop (diet in particular, I think) and its effects on the human body, particularly on a person’s metabolism and the activity of their heart. Maybe that’s not what it was about but that’s what I think it was about.

I had two cans of DP left and I made a decision: when I got home, I was quitting.

To be continued…