Confessions of a Sugar-Addicted Health and Fitness Nut

There is a special kind of delusion required to be a health-focused adult over 50 who is also a closeted sugar addict. And I don't mean, "Oh, I like dessert sometimes." I mean, I have the unnatural superpower to consume an entire German chocolate cake for lunch in one sitting (as long as I can wash it down with a glass of milk) and want another for dinner. These fierce cravings are what I fight almost daily, and I fight it because many on my dad's side of the family (such as my father and his father) have passed too early due to complications from type-2 diabetes.

Every morning, I wake up determined to be a beacon of health a fitness for those who don't believe they can meet their health goals at their age. I stretch. I hydrate. I plan my movement for the day. Yet, all the while, a negative voice in my head (I have named Roger) intrudes and mischievously whispers, "You know what sounds good right now? A buttered Pop-Tart."

Ugh.

I try to ignore it. I really do. But that troublemaking voice is persistent. Here I am trying to be an example of health & fitness for people over 50, but on the inside, I'm negotiating a compromise with this heathen by convincing myself that a handful of raisins will scratch the same itch as a "breakfast" pastry. (It will not. Raisins are liars.) 

In my home gym, I am a focused. I am determined. If someone saw me working out, they would probably assume, 'Wow. He really has his life together.' What they wouldn't know is that I'm trying to push back the thought of what an Orea dipped in cream cheese would taste like.

And don't get me started on the grocery store, the bane of a healthy existence where ultra-processed and chemically enhanced "foods" aren't just the norm. They are promoted and touted as the best tasting things ever with misleading labels and package designs that lead you to believe they are good for you. I walk through the produce section like I'm starring in a commercial for healthy living. I examine the avocados. I acknowledge the spinach. I exude virtue (and maybe even a little self-righteousness), but the moment I cross the snack aisle, I become a different person.

I stare down the aisle with a temptation similar to standing at the entrance of Amsterdam and tell myself, 'You don't need cookies. They won't go well with the carrots and salmon you already have in your buggy. People will judge.'

But then Roger will make an appearance, saying, 'But what if I WANT cookies?'

'You're trying to be healthy, Cary. Cookies are not healthy.'

'Yes. But I also want to be happy.'

I admit, Roger gets me there sometimes. Cut to me at home, crumbs on my chest, pretending I don't know how it happened.

I've tried all the healthy substitutions. Protein bars. Sugar-free cookies. Monk-fruit sweeteners. Supplements such as Chromium Picolinate, Magnesium, L-Glutamine, and Gymnema Sylvestre. But nothing in my over-50 years of life has helped much. So I've made peace with the fact that nothing will ever replace the joy of real sugar. Not spiritually. Not emotionally. Not chemically.

But maybe here's the real truth no one has told me about sugar addiction. It’s not a battle I'll ever “win” one day and never think about again. It’s a relationship I have to learn to navigate with more grace, more awareness, and a little more humor than I have in the past. Some days I'll feel powerful and disciplined. Other days I’ll find myself tonguing cake icing off the corner of my mouth. Both days count. Both days are part of the work.

If you’re reading this and wrestling with your own version of Roger, hear me clearly: you’re not broken, weak, or failing. You’re human. You’re trying. And trying (especially when it’s messy, inconvenient, or imperfect) is its own kind of victory. Every glass of water, every walk, every moment you choose to care for yourself even while craving something else, those moments add up. They shape you far more than the slip‑ups ever will.

So keep going. Keep laughing at the absurdity of it all. Keep choosing yourself, even when the sugar gremlins get loud. You don’t have to be flawless to be healthy, and you don’t have to be perfect to make progress. You just have to keep showing up for the life you want, one honest, imperfect day at a time.

And if you ever feel like you’re the only one fighting this ridiculous, frosting‑covered battle, trust me. Somewhere out there, another over‑50 warrior is lifting weights with one hand and brushing donut crumbs off their thigh with the other, doing the best they can. Just like you. Just like me.

We’re in this together, one sweet, stubborn step at a time.