I’ve never been the poster-child for healthy eating. I enjoy my desserts, the occasional candies, etc. Those things were created to be enjoyed, and I simply cannot get behind the idea that my food needs to be a source of bleak sadness in my life. I will enjoy my food, even if it requires a smidgen of extra effort to keep it from being the source of my death.
That “Everything in Moderation” claim makes the most sense to me. Unless you start talking about coffee. if you’re going to suggest moderating my coffee intake, you can take a very long walk off a very short pier.
My enjoyment of the occasional sweets and junk aside, I do still try to eat sensibly. My fruits intake is through the roof, and vegetables are never left over in our house. Red meat on occasion, chicken, rice…we do what we can to keep from feeding ourselves and the kids things that will kill us on a regular basis. Some of our favorite snacks in the house are berries. I’ll grab a salad for lunch here and there, or go for yogurt when the opportunity permits. So, I’m trying, and I’ve been trying for several months, which is important since my job keeps me sedentary for large periods at a time.
The other night though…I did something terrible. While working until 11, I got tied up on some small things and never had a chance to get a proper dinner. So, I grabbed a bag of chips (a big one) and two cosmic brownies from a gas station.
That was dinner, along with a cup of coffee and a can of green tea.
Now, before you chastise me over this miserable decision, let me just tell you that you don’t have to.
My body very much objected to being treated thusly.
It wasn’t but a half hour after consuming this….disaster….that my stomach started to kill me. I felt worse than if I hadn’t eaten at all. The gastronomic agony continued until well into the next morning too. I genuinely felt sick. My body simply would not accept what I had eaten as actual food.
After so many months of trying like hell not to be a death-bound pig, I went and did that out of convenience. It turned out not to be so convenient.
There is an up-side to it though.
The fact that I can no longer do that without feeling like I want to die is an indication to me that I’ve made some progress in altering a dietary lifestyle for the better- that I’ve become used to things that aren’t so bad for me.
Now, I failed biology in school. Also Chemistry. And I never took Nutrition. But it would seem to me that an adaptation of the system to a dietary trend is very possible, and the rejection of garbage from the other night is proof to me that not only SHOULDN’T I do that anymore, but I’ve turned a slight corner and CAN’T do it anymore.
This is uplifting.
This does NOT mean that I’m going to avoid eating M&Ms out of the boys’ Easter baskets this year (Two sets of grandparents for some reason see the need to supplement ‘the Easter Bunny’s’ contribution to chocolate supply.) Nor does it mean that I plan on swapping my occasional pepperoni pizza out for something called kale, which cursory research indicates is not actually a food(?)
What it does mean is that I am now biologically bound to my moderation mantra. The cosmic brownie isn’t off the menu from time to time, but it cannot BE the menu anymore. The chips are not getting thrown in the garbage, but they’re also not going to be crammed by the handful down a dorito-dusted gullet on a regular basis.
I’m still going to enjoy my food. The individually wrapped Snicker’s bars in the office are not safe from me. But I’ve reached a point where neither is a well-made salad, and that- I suppose, is the most important thing.