“Insulin is vital for lipogenesis. Its role as a lipogenic hormone is underplayed, but we know that without insulin, you can’t get fat.”
--Dr. Roger Unger
Having raved about Dr. Unger’s lecture in the previous insulin post, obviously, I think he’s pretty brilliant. That being said, chronically elevated insulin isn’t the only mechanism by which people accumulate excess adipose tissue. (For the newbies out there, “accumulating excess adipose tissue” is the fancy way to say “get fat.”) I prefer to use the word adipose instead of fat, because I am trying to make a distinction between dietary fat that we consume in food, and the body fat that we all love to hate so much on our bellies, hips, thighs, and elsewhere. Even if they both occur in the form of triglycerides, I still want to keep them separate, since eating dietary fat does not automatically result in said fat depositing itself on our rear ends or forming second and third chins.
Apart from insulin, there are several other
things that contribute to the regulation of body weight, and, perhaps more
important, the composition of that
weight. And I’m not ignoring those. Sometime in the next few weeks, I’ll be writing a post about the myriad other reasons someone might not be losing weight on a low-carb diet (unrelated to this insulin series). For our purposes right now, though, we’ll stick with insulin. Because even if there are other factors playing a role in
excess adiposity, when we look at changes that have occurred to the food supply
and the general dietary guidelines from various government and professional medical/health
organizations during the last several decades, systemic hyperinsulinemia is
probably one of the largest influences, if not the single largest.
In tackling the role of
insulin on the accumulation of adipose tissue, first we need to explore just a
few more things about insulin’s biochemical & physiological roles. After
that, we’ll see how it all plays out in the real world—that is, in the body.
Last time, I wrote, “There’s no doubt insulin does have an important role in regulating—or, more specifically, lowering—blood glucose (BG). But that’s not insulin’s only function. In fact, I would argue it’s not even the primary function.” But even if lowering BG is the primary function of insulin, then the method by which this is accomplished sheds a lot of light on what insulin does and explains the rest of insulin’s effects more satisfactorily. Time to revisit the hormone chart from last time, but with a focus on different things:
Chart courtesy of Charles Saladino, PhD, Misericordia University |
Do you remember that song
from Sesame Street? “One of these things
is not like the others…” Well, three of these hormones—glucagon, epinephrine,
and cortisol—all “stimulate fatty acid release from adipose tissue.” You know
what that means, right? That’s lipolysis—the
breaking down of fat—stored body fat! But now look at insulin. It is the only
one—the only one—of these four
hormones that “stimulates fatty acid synthesis & storage after a
high-carbohydrate meal.” And you know what that
means, right? The storing of fat
on the body. Indeed, THIS may be the primary role of insulin: inhibition of lipolysis. (Or, anti-catabolism, in general -- the building up, rather than the breaking down, of tissue.)
We know one of insulin’s functions is to stimulate the glucose-lowering cascade. What else does insulin do? Well, whereas cortisol, epinephrine, and glucagon are catabolic, insulin is anabolic. The first three break things down; insulin builds things up. What does it build up? At the very least, it stimulates the buildup of glycogen; the synthesis of structural & skeletal protein; and the synthesis of fatty acids via the conversion of glucose into triglycerides. (Again, nerd that I am, I am being very careful with how I word things. See, insulin is a hormone, not an enzyme. Again, as a hormone, it’s more of a signaling agent than something that actually does anything, itself. Insulin stimulates or inhibits various biochemical processes by affecting enzymes, which are what actually participate in the moving & shaking that goes on at the cellular level. I am not always so careful with my phrasing, so I’m just putting this out there so you’ll know how these things work, even when I get linguistically lazy. It would be less-than-correct to say that insulin, itself, does x, y, and z. It’s more like insulin tells other players what to do.)
Evolutionary Biology:
A Clash Between Our Genes and our Jeans
We can put this in
perspective by looking at it through our ancestral/evolutionary health
framework: If you were consuming lots of fruit in summertime, and plenty of squash and starchy tubers throughout autumn, your overall insulin levels might
have been higher than at other times of year. But this would have served a good
purpose, right? The biochemical signal of elevated insulin tells the body to
store fuel. The storage of fuel (in the form of adipose tissue) would have been
a crucial survival mechanism to get you through the long winter, when food was presumably
less abundant. The body would see frequent and large-ish insulin spikes in
summer and fall as a good thing. You
would want to inhibit lipolysis for
most of summer and fall. If you were breaking down a bunch of your adipose
tissue during those seasons, you would be in deep trouble come the food-scarce winter. This is a perfectly good
protective and survival mechanism. The problem now, as most of us recognize, is that in the modern industrialized
world, the metaphorical winter never comes, but our diets and lifestyles still
promote storage, storage, storage. (We will look at another way the
accumulation of adipose is a protective mechanism in a future post. Just keep this overarching theme in mind: the body tends to do whatever it can in order to
stay alive, all the way down to the
cellular level. Seen this way, many of our modern ills and “diseases” are quite
elegant, biochemically speaking, even while they wreak fatal havoc at the level
of the whole organism. I addressed this in my cancer series, when I explained that cancerous changes at the cellular level can be interpreted as a survival mechanism on
the part of the cells.)
Back to the hormone chart: As
you can see, there are three hormones that are catabolic. That is, they break
tissue down, mostly in response to falling blood sugar. In order to keep
blood sugar high enough to do
whatever the body needs to do—run from a tiger? Fight off a bear?—glucagon,
epinephrine, and cortisol all
stimulate gluconeogenesis and/or glycogenolysis. Meaning, they stimulate the
breakdown of glycogen into individual glucose molecules, and/or they stimulate
the catabolism of muscle tissue, in order to liberate amino acids that can be
converted into glucose. They also
stimulate the catabolism of adipose
tissue, which releases fatty acids that can be used as fuel, as well as the
glycerol portion of the stored triglycerides, which can be converted into
glucose.
So we know insulin lowers
blood glucose, right? How insulin
does this is another story. Insulin doesn’t actually escort glucose out of the
bloodstream and into cells. What insulin does is act more like a signaling
agent: insulin binds to a receptor on the surface of the cell membrane, and in
response to the binding of insulin, glucose transporters (GLUTs) are moved (or “translocated”) from inside the cell to span the cell
membrane. It’s the GLUTs that actually suck the glucose into the cell. And,
just so we know the full story here, some GLUTs require insulin to stimulate their translocation; others don’t. So insulin is not the only way glucose can get into cells. (As
I mentioned last time, physical activity is a great way to induce “non-insulin mediated glucose uptake.”)
Insulin: Miracle-Gro for Adipose Tissue
We know one of insulin’s functions is to stimulate the glucose-lowering cascade. What else does insulin do? Well, whereas cortisol, epinephrine, and glucagon are catabolic, insulin is anabolic. The first three break things down; insulin builds things up. What does it build up? At the very least, it stimulates the buildup of glycogen; the synthesis of structural & skeletal protein; and the synthesis of fatty acids via the conversion of glucose into triglycerides. (Again, nerd that I am, I am being very careful with how I word things. See, insulin is a hormone, not an enzyme. Again, as a hormone, it’s more of a signaling agent than something that actually does anything, itself. Insulin stimulates or inhibits various biochemical processes by affecting enzymes, which are what actually participate in the moving & shaking that goes on at the cellular level. I am not always so careful with my phrasing, so I’m just putting this out there so you’ll know how these things work, even when I get linguistically lazy. It would be less-than-correct to say that insulin, itself, does x, y, and z. It’s more like insulin tells other players what to do.)
Two of the enzymes insulin
affects are hormone sensitive lipase and lipoprotein lipase. (I talked briefly about this way
back in the fuel partitioning series. In fact, that post is probably the CliffsNotes
version of this one, so if you’re pressed for time, just go read that instead.)
As I wrote there: “We need only to look at untreated type-1 diabetics to
understand that (barring any other wacky hormonal complication) it is darn near
impossible to accumulate body fat in the absence of insulin. And we need only
to look at an insulin-dependent type-2 diabetic with poorly managed blood
glucose to understand that sustained, elevated insulin levels make it darn near
impossible not to accumulate excess
body fat.”
The reason is (partly) this:
Insulin stimulates an enzyme that lets fat get into adipose cells, and it inhibits an enzyme that allows fat to
get out of adipose cells. Talk about
a double-whammy. Insulin is like a prison guard, who helps lock triglycerides into
fat cells, and then stands there in order to make sure they never get back out.
Son of a…!
This requires a bit of
explanation. Triglycerides—that is, three fatty acid molecules connected to a
glycerol backbone—are too large to enter and leave cells freely. They can’t
cross the cell membrane. Therefore, in order for triglycerides to get into the
cell, they have to be broken down into individual fatty acids. The primary
enzyme that does this is called lipoprotein lipase. Once inside the cell, the fatty acids
reassemble themselves into triglycerides (also called triacylglycerols, or
TAGs, for short). So you see the problem now, right? If TAGs are too large to
cross the cell membrane and get inside, then we probably need some other enzyme to break them back
down into individual fatty acids before they can be released back out of the adipose cells. After all, that’s what we want,
right? Fatty acids to be released from
adipose tissue so they can be used as
fuel somewhere else, such as in cardiac muscle or skeletal muscle cells—that is, we want to burn fat.
Well, the enzyme that breaks
TAGs back down into fatty acids is hormone-sensitive lipase
(HSL), and, as I mentioned earlier, insulin inhibits the action of this enzyme.
(There are lots of other things that might influence HSL, but insulin is a biggie.)
So, you can clearly see how insulin affects both the storage and
mobilization of fatty acids. Leaving other potential influencing mechanisms
aside for now, you can also see why,
in chronically hyperinsulinemic people, it is darn near impossible to lose body
fat. The prison guard is always at
the gate, never giving the inmates a chance to escape. And you can see why
lowering insulin levels—be that through a low-carbohydrate intake, a moderated
protein intake, intermittent fasting, physical activity, pharmaceutical drugs, nutritional
supplements, or some combination of all of these—can result in fatty acids
finally being able to leave the adipose cells.
Bottom line: As
long as insulin levels are high, it will be extremely difficult to lose body
fat.
Whether or not your cells’
mitochondria are up to the task of using
those fatty acids (i.e., “burning fat”) would be a whole separate blog series,
and I think you’ll agree we’ve got our hands full enough here with insulin. So maybe I’ll
tackle that can of worms some other
time. I’m just planting that seed in your mind for now—that even when insulin
levels are lower, some people still struggle to lose body fat on a low-carb
diet, and there are lots of reasons why.
The posts in this series so
far have been ridiculously long, so I’m going to end this one here.
There’s quite a lot to cover with regard to insulin’s role in regulating
adipose tissue, so I’m breaking it up into a few shorter posts rather than
having one absolutely ginormous one that no one would want to spend time
reading. The next couple of posts will explore in more detail the idea of
accumulating body fat as a “protective mechanism,” and we’ll also see how
dietary influences on insulin can stand in the way of fat burning, as well as
lead to many of other effects of dysregulated blood glucose and insulin, such
as brain fog and low energy levels.
Continue to part 5 in this
series: http://www.tuitnutrition.com/2015/10/its-the-insulin-5.html
Remember:
Amy Berger, M.S., NTP, is not a physician and Tuit Nutrition, LLC, is not a
medical practice. The information contained on this site is not intended to
diagnose, treat, cure, or prevent any medical condition.
#4 was another great chapter, very clear and informative, keep'em comin. The genes against jeans evolutionary clash was a brilliant homophone crack.... Do you scream when you see ice cream?
ReplyDeleteSedge warblers are sparrow-sized insectivorous birds that breed in Europe. At the end of the breeding season they DOUBLE their body weight to fuel a trans-Saharan migration. They do this by eating high-carb insects - plum reed aphids which are basically little protein bags full of sugary plant sap.
ReplyDeleteI predict that if anyone studied their physiology they would switch on insulin resistance for the food storage and then switch it off again in order to metabolise the stored fat.
Likewise for some thrushes, blackcaps, etc. which turn from insects to berries and fruit in autumn/winter to gain fat to fuel them through food shortages and hard weather movements.
Hi Amy,
ReplyDeleteFirst of all, I absolutely love your site and blog. I stumbled over it a few days ago and have been digging threw your posts a lot. There are some things however where I stumble upon your reasoning and am wondering what it is that I am missing. Here you write for example:
"The body would see frequent and large-ish insulin spikes in summer and fall as a good thing. You would want to inhibit lipolysis for most of summer and fall. If you were breaking down a bunch of your adipose tissue during those seasons, you would be in deep trouble come the food-scarce winter. This is a perfectly good protective and survival mechanism. The problem now, as most of us recognize, is that in the modern industrialized world, the metaphorical winter never comes, but our diets and lifestyles still promote storage, storage, storage".
How does this explanation take into account firstly, that most sweet fruits (bananas, mangos etc.) actually originate in courntries without seasonality. The fruits with lower GIs berries, cherries etc are the ones nature to the more northern/southern parts of the planet.
Secondly, above statement would also suggest that in people with darker skin this phenomena would be less pronounced, as they do not have 'to prepare' their body for winter. Assuming of course skin color is an evolution based upon the regions the respective ancestors lived for hundreds of generations. Furthermore, you can often observe that darker skinned people do have curvier figures than lighter skinned people. I don't mean they are bigger, but when you compare both ends of the spectrum, lighter have less curves they put on adipose tissue more spread over the entire body (not trying to generalize anything, well I am, what I am saying is that exceptions definitely exist, but that there is a broader tendency). However, wouldn't your statement suggest that it should be the other way around as food is available all year around, thus no fat storage required?
I hope you'll have the time to write an response, as I am really curious about your thoughts on this.
Cheers, Isa
Hey Isa,lots to say here. I’m headed out of town for a conference this weekend. I won’t be able to write a detailed reply until after I’m home next week. Thanks for your patience.
DeleteThere's a lot to tackle here. To keep things short, here are my thoughts:
Delete1. Regarding people in certain geographical locations having access to fruit year-round (with no cold winter when these foods would have been scarce) -- I think there are probably genetic constitutional variations in overall carbohydrate tolerance. If you look at Pacific Islanders who were eating significant amounts of fruit and starches, they were lean, robust, and healthy as heck when Weston A Price encountered them in the 1930s, before the foods of "modern commerce" had displaced them with white bread, refined sugar, etc. I do not believe, and have never written, that carbohydrate, per se, is harmful or toxic. Not even fructose. It's all about context. People who thrived on higher carb diets in the past ate and lived *very differently* from how we eat and live in many parts of the world now in the 21st Century.
2. Variations in human body shape -- yes, if you look at various ethnicities around the world, there is quite a bit of variation in where and how much adipose we store, and even in height. (There are tribes in South America, for example, in which people are typically very short. This may have conferred some sort of advantage in the distant past that is difficult to suss out now.)
Other than that, I'm not quite sure what you're asking. If I haven't addressed your questions adequately, feel free to write again and be more specific as to exactly what you're asking about.
Hey Amy,
ReplyDeleteI am curious for your answer indeed. Another aspect that kept me wondering when I digged deeper into J. Fungs work (great tip btw), and which is probably aiming at a similar mechanism/theory is the statement:
"fasting does not slow down metabolism because the body needs energy to "hunt", therefore we are actually sharper in a fasted state and metabolic rate stays constant or even increases"
when compared to "caloric restriction does lead to a lower metabolic rate".
Applying the hunter theory, wouldn't one think that if let's say good old great great great granny only caught one rabbit and had to share it with the entire family, a caloric restriction would occur? Or the nuts found are not sufficient to cover all needs, you get the point. The 'hunter/gatherer' theory seems to be assuming, that if there was food, there was automatically an abundance of food. Even though to me it seems much more likely for our ancestors to hunt down a couple squirrels than one big deer, potentially resulting in less than the required amount of food frequently.
What, exactly, are you asking? I'm sorry, I just can't tell from what you've written here. What is your question?
Delete