Lake Placid News Editor Andy Flynn poses with a Macintosh apple at his home. He hasn’t eaten any apples since buying a peck a few weeks ago, not even for apple crisp, a favorite. (News photo — Andy Flynn)

May 10: 490 lbs.

May 31 (surgery): 460 lbs.

Oct. 25: 390 lbs.

Total lost: 100 lbs.

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Lake Placid News Editor Andy Flynn was not tempted to eat at one of the food trucks on Sept. 24 while covering the Adirondack Harvest Festival in Westport for the newspaper. (News photo — Andy Flynn)

I hate food. Hate it, hate it, hate it. What began as a love affair with food has morphed into a bitter separation.

I used to spend my best and worst moments in life with food. It was a constant companion, from my awkward teenage years to the endless food and drink binges in college, carefree single life in my 20s and ongoing wedded bliss in my 30s, 40s and early 50s.

Food was always there to cheer me up. It knew all my secrets. It comforted me when life turned sour and helped me celebrate life’s milestones. It was there for me on every food holiday, from Halloween to the Fourth of July. I’ve loved food from an early age — sneaking into the freezer to taste my father’s ice cream or eating too many Schwan’s burritos (they’re addicting). And it was there for me in May, when I decided to try every food item I love for possibly the last time before bariatric surgery — Ben & Jerry’s, barbecue ribs, McDonald’s, pizza, chicken wings, etc.

Now that familiar feeling — and that security blanket — is gone.

I’ve been able to try some of these favorite foods since surgery, but it’s not the same. It’s very limited. And risky; I never know whether I’ll be sick after trying something new again. One time this summer, I had ice cream and it was OK. The next time, I got really sick and threw up. I haven’t had ice cream since.

My relationship with food is still evolving. It’s still complicated. Every time I think about food, look at food, walk through the supermarket, see a food commercial or talk about food with someone, I’m instantly deciding — either out loud or using my inside voice — whether I can or can’t eat that particular food. Most of the time, I can’t.

And when I see the portions people are eating, my eyes bulge out and I get judgey. Looking at a regular-sized plate of food, I might say to myself or out loud, “That would take me all day to eat.”

Thing is, I’m never really hungry anymore. Aside from the fact that I have to eat to survive — making sure I ingest my protein first, then non-starchy vegetables, then starches — the impulse to eat is all emotional.

Eating food that doesn’t help me survive now seems like a waste of time and money. Mindless snacking does me no good. Having a piece of chocolate because I like the mouth feel or Cheez-It crackers because I like the taste is a treat — but it doesn’t keep me physically alive.

My surgery — the sleeve gastrectomy — cut off most of my stomach. That means I can’t eat as much at one time. I also should stop drinking fluids 30 minutes before eating and shouldn’t resume drinking fluids until 30 minutes after I eat. Otherwise, I’d wash away the protein or daily vitamins I need to survive.

Yet the surgery doesn’t take care of emotional or stress eating. I have to stop that on my own.

If I have a hard day at work, I feel like eating. If it’s my birthday, I want to celebrate by eating. If everybody is stuffing their faces on Thanksgiving, I want to eat. It’s all about emotions. Life is full of them, and life is full of food, and I’m living proof that they can be a dangerous combination if you don’t find a balance. That’s why I ballooned up to 499 pounds in 2021 and felt that only bariatric surgery would save my life. Now, 100 pounds down in five months, I can safely say it’s given me another chance — a chance I don’t want to screw up. Now the real work begins — controlling my emotional eating.

Doctors say that bariatric surgery is only one tool to lose weight, and they’re right. I can only eat so much at one time, no matter the stress or emotions. I can still only have between 4 and 6 ounces of food at one sitting, no matter how high I pile the food on my plate. The trick is eating the right foods when emotions get powerful.

Which brings me to leftovers. Before surgery, the word “leftovers” was not in my vocabulary. Today, I can write a book about them. My life now seems to be defined by leftovers.

On Sunday, I baked a lasagna-style dish with pasta, cheese, ricotta and sweet Italian sausage. There was a lot of food in a big baking dish.

“Why did you make so much food?” my wife asked while we were eating.

“Because I don’t know how to cook it smaller,” I said. “And now we have plenty of leftovers.”

Needless to say — it’s Tuesday as I write this — I had leftovers from this dish all day on Monday. It’s what we’re having for dinner tonight. And I’ll probably be eating it the rest of the week.

That’s one of the positives of life after bariatric surgery. I don’t have to cook as often.

Hating food is new to me. I never thought this day would come, and that’s why these feelings are tearing me apart. This may sound like whining or complaining. I’m not. I knew exactly what I was getting into when I had bariatric surgery, and I’m grateful that I went through with it. It’s one of the best decisions I’ve ever made in my life. It’s just going to take some time to adjust.

With food no longer my closest of friends, I wonder if I’m now working through the five stages of grief. I don’t remember hitting the first stage — denial — or maybe I just forgot. Right now, obviously, I’m in the anger stage on my way to bargaining, depression and acceptance. All I know is that I’m working through what seems like a real messy breakup. It feels like a life-defining moment.

When people ask me how I’m doing, after surgery, I usually just tell them how many pounds I’ve lost since May. I don’t get into the weeds of emotions. Only in this space — the Lake Placid Diet — do I reveal my deepest feelings about obesity and the daily struggles I endure. Only in this space do I dare say that I hate food. Hate it, hate it, hate it.

Right now, at least.