I no longer craved the food of mortal men. I was eating my veggies, with a side of veggies, and some baby carrots in between. I saved my final Purple Carrot meal for my last night: a ramen bowl with whole-grain soba noodles.
And as I sat over my steaming bowl of soupy noodles, with a glass of Gray Goose vodka on the rocks on the side (for some reason, I feel like this is the only booze Brady would drink), I thought about my brief but brilliantly bright journey into the world of Tom Brady's diet.
When I ran that night, I clocked in almost a full 30 seconds faster than the week before. Plus, the existential dread I'd held in my heart since reading The Stranger in eighth grade seemed to be drifting away. And when I played catch again with my girlfriend, I asked her if my excellence bar had been noticeably raised. She said, "Um, yeah, I guess," which I took as a minor success.