Status: 12 pounds over baseline. Week 1 of the restart. This is the incident report.

What broke. I went on vacation with my Italian relatives. If you have Italian relatives, you already know how this report ends. The ketogenic diet lasted until roughly the first dinner. The 18-hour fasting window didn't survive the first morning — there is no fasting window in that house, only the space between meals. Training stopped: no gym, no 5am, no routine, because the entire structure that holds my protocol up stayed home while I got on a plane. I came back twelve pounds over baseline.

I want to be precise about the mechanism, because "I fell off on vacation" hides it. I didn't lose a fight with a plate of pasta. I removed every system that runs my brain — the wake time, the eating window, the training appointment, the tracking — all at once, for weeks. An unmedicated ADHD brain without structure doesn't coast. Mine doesn't, anyway. It goes wherever the stimulation is, and on that vacation the stimulation was food, and the food was excellent.

What held. The creatine came along — it's the one piece of the protocol that fits in a suitcase, about twenty grams a day, same as at home. And the clean date was never in question. First minute of January 1, 2009. That's a different system than the diet. That one doesn't take vacations.

The restart plan. Concrete, and already running.

The 18-hour fasting window is back as of this week. It goes first because it's the domino that pushes the others — a closed eating window makes keto simpler and mornings automatic.
Ketogenic eating is back, and the kitchen gets reset to match — if it's not in the house, my brain can't negotiate with it at 9pm.
Training resumed — at current weight, at current capacity. Restart where you are, not where you left off. Walking in and loading the old numbers on day one is how a restart becomes an injury.
The Oura ring goes back to being read, not just worn. Wearing it is easy. Reading the grade is the discipline.
The creatine continues — about twenty grams a day, for the brain.

What I'll report next week. The weight, whatever it says. The count of days the fasting window actually held — a number, not a feeling. Training days completed. That's the whole report. No arc, no lesson, just next week's numbers against this week's.

There's no shame in any of this, and no triumph either. A mechanic doesn't cry over a failed part and doesn't frame it. He writes down what failed, replaces it, and watches it closer next time. I've restarted more times than I can count. The only version of this that would worry me is the one where I stopped filing the report.

Twelve Pounds and Zero Excuses: The Restart, Documented