Bernard O'Shea — The Dad Bod Diaries: The food log of a hungry but health-conscious man

In the latest chapter of his Dad Bod Diaries, Bernard O'Shea tracks a full day of his eating, his attitude to eating... and thinking about eating

'With my lunch, I have a handful of crisps that I don’t initially acknowledge as part of the meal, which is something I do with crisps — if I don’t name them, they don’t fully exist.'

8.30am: I don’t think about breakfast in any structured, adult way—  I think about toast, specifically two slices of white toast browned properly.

I briefly consider eggs because eggs are what a man who has his life together might have, but I immediately dismiss them on the grounds they require attention and I don’t want to monitor anything at that hour, I want food that happens to me.

So I pour a bowl of Rice Krispies with milk and convince myself they contain some meaningful level of protein because they’re fortified.

9.15am: I have a black coffee and I log it immediately because logging early gives me the sense I am a man who logs things, and the coffee is two calories, which feels like I’ve somehow started the day in credit.

I briefly wonder if I can carry unused calories forward like minutes on an old mobile plan, because that feels like a system I might thrive in.

10.40am: I’m not hungry at all, despite the fact I’ve eaten something I know, deep down, is not particularly sustaining, and I take this as a sign that I’ve solved food entirely.

I have a genuine moment where I think maybe I’ve been overdoing it for years and all I needed was a bit of discipline and a smaller bowl, and I consider telling people about this, not in a bragging way, but in an informative, passing-it-on way, like someone who has discovered something useful.

11.25am: I am suddenly starving in a way that appears personal — this is not a mild hunger, this is an accusation, and I start thinking about food urgently, checking the time, wondering if it’s too early to eat, deciding it is too early, and then becoming annoyed at the concept of time altogether, because time, in this moment, feels like something designed specifically to stop me eating.

12.10pm: Lunch becomes a negotiation between who I think I should be and who I actually am.

I imagine grilled chicken and maybe a salad, something that would sound respectable if I described it out loud to another adult, but what I make is a chicken wrap with mayonnaise, leftover roast potatoes, and a handful of crisps that I don’t initially acknowledge as part of the meal, which is something I do with crisps — if I don’t name them, they don’t fully exist.

But when I log it, this is where things begin to loosen slightly because the wrap goes in honestly enough and the chicken is probably close, but the mayonnaise becomes conservative and the crisps are entered as a “small handful”, which is technically true if your hand is small and your standards are low, and that’s what I do — I don’t ignore reality, I resize it.

2.30pm: There’s a dip and I decide this is blood sugar, which is useful because it removes responsibility.

I don’t want something sweet, I require it, and I go to the press and find chocolate biscuits and I have one, then another, and then a third, because stopping at two suggests uncertainty and three is decisive.

Three is a man who knows himself, and I log two, which seems fair — it feels like meeting myself halfway, which is the kind of language I use when I’m absolutely not meeting myself halfway.

4.40pm: I feel completely fine again, and this confirms the biscuits were necessary.

5.50pm: I start thinking about dinner in a way that suggests growth. I imagine grilled fish, potatoes, maybe some vegetables, something that would indicate a turning point, but what I actually have is a massive frozen pizza. It’s ok, I’ll do a 10-mile walk tonight when the kids go to bed, that will even it out.

7.45pm: I’m not hungry, but I am thinking about food in a way that has nothing to do with hunger; this is about marking the end of the day.

I start thinking about toast again, which has now positioned itself as both the problem and the solution.

8.20pm: I open the press without fully deciding to do so. I’m not looking for anything particular but I am hopeful, and I find a bar of chocolate and have a few squares, which becomes more than a few squares in a fashion that feels incremental but is not.

And I don’t log it yet because logging it would make it official and I prefer to leave things in a kind of administrative limbo where they might still resolve themselves.

9.10pm: I tell myself I’ll have something small just to take the edge off, even though I’m not entirely sure what the edge is.

9.47pm: I am standing in the kitchen finishing whatever is within reach, aware this was not planned, mildly annoyed at myself but not enough to stop.

I open MyFitnessPal and look at the remaining calories, which are technically still within range if interpreted generously.

I consider entering everything properly just to see the real number, but there are two versions of today available to me at this point, one is accurate and one is manageable, and I choose manageable.

I don’t go for the 10-mile walk. I decide today is just a write-off.

Tomorrow, I’m going to work out, fast, and eat nothing but protein.

It feels like I want to start every day tomorrow.