“Find what you love and let it kill you.” — Charles Bukowski
I’m a lazy goblin who wants to be healthy without doing anything. I want it to be easy. I want the pill. I want nutrition, sleep, and exercise to be perfect, down to a science, so that if repeated I more or less, mindlessly, stay healthy.
My brain absolutely adores routine. Systems. It needs it. I’d be nowhere otherwise. A train with no tracks.
But it also craves novelty. A stimmed out TikTok zoomer brain that loves new things. Swipe swipe swipe. It wants flexibility. It wants health side quests. New exercise routines, new goals, new gym gadgets and gizmos.
One day I want to be an elite runner, and the next I want to be great at yoga. One day I’m into tennis, the next rock climbing. One day I’m spamming eggs and the next I’m writing essays on sardines. It doesn’t always want the straight and narrow, it wants to go around the trench not through it.
A heart at war. Structured vs. unstructured. Stick to what works or go for the glory.
At some point, every diet, every exercise routine, every protocol I try caves under the pressure of some new shiny promise. Always iterating. Until it recognizes it needs some routine. I cling on and hang out there for a while, only to venture out again. Endless discovery. Endless tinkering. Progress. Going backwards sometimes.
But not my breakfast.
No, my breakfast has been about as consistent as the sun rising in the east. A north star of sorts. The cornerstone of my nutrition. The thing that has somehow slotted perfectly between both halves of my brain. I would be nowhere without it.
One meal. Ten minutes. By 8:30am I’m off to the races. Gut healing, bowels regular, vitamins and minerals in one shot, macros covered, recovery handled. If I didn’t eat again all day it literally wouldnt matter. Every other meal is easy. Mistakes don’t matter. All the boxes are checked before noon.
Systematic, repeatable, efficacious. Completely fixed my skin, helps me stay shredded year round, and enhances my performance. Simply works. Easy enough for a lazy goblin to stick to. Somehow still tastes good. Novel enough for a kid who’s never satisfied.
A glorified yogurt bowl, supercharged to the gills with enough juice to slay the demons of our modern world. Or most of them. A supplement trojan horse. Nine powders smuggled into my gut under yogurt and honey. We’re bringing the world famous dogfood bowl from dinner to breakfast. Same idea, but better.
I give you, the trojan bowl. Or as I like to call it…
The T-bowl
This is not your ordinary yogurt bowl. It’s the one man army of breakfasts. The camp in the back of the map with noob tube and farm nukes for free kinda setup. Lets dive into it.