Tag Archives: paleo diet

My body finally got on board with my brain

So. Hi all. I know it has been quite some time since I’ve done this. Write about my journey towards health and happiness with my physicality, that is. So there’s lots to say. But it is 1:35 AM at this moment, so I’m going to pare it down a bit.

So after my ex and I became, well, exes, and thus I had to depart from his homestead and move back in with my parents, I put back on a decent portion of the weight I had lost in the months prior. And that was sad, and I wanted to do that thing where you already feel bad about yourself so you eat even worse and workout even less because, what the hell, I already look like shit, what’s one more pound? But I didn’t. I fought tooth and nail to regain control of my eating habits which, I must say, is not an easy thing to do while living with a woman who naturally burns 4000 calories a day. Why God? Why wasn’t I born with my mother’s metabolism?

Anyway, I lost nearly all the weight I had repacked on and was getting on my way to losing more. I was still struggling with sugar, so I was getting lax about what I was eating, and started caring more about how much I was eating. And that was working alright. But I felt awful after eating wheat. Not guilty awful. No, unwell awful. So I knew I needed to get back onto the Paleo train. BUT, a week at the lake with my very large Italian family threw a wrench into that plan, and rather than getting my ass back into gear, my ass got bigger yet again.

Sigh.

So then there’s July. It is UNGODLY hot here in Michigan, especially in my parents crap-ass house that doesn’t have AC. This climate crisis is bad because it prevents me from being able to go running without getting heat stroke, and the very notion of spending an hour in the 80 degrees+ yoga studio makes me want to vomit, so my exercise becomes limited to taking walks after dark. Not what I’d call kickass cardio. BUT, the good thing about it is my appetite disappears when I am dying of heat exhaustion. So once again, I start shedding weight, praise the lord.

And then, about two weeks ago, something wonderful, something glorious happened: my body spontaneously decided it no longer wanted carbs, but especially, sugar. I hadn’t been obsessively limiting my sugar intake, I’d even let myself eat a little pasta when it was the only thing that sounded appealing, but then *POOF* I lost all taste for grains and sweets. Do you have any idea how freeing it is to stand in front of a cake and have absolutely no desire to eat it? To see a sea of mostacciolli at a wedding and pass it by without a second thought? I don’t crave cookies anymore. I crave salad with a great homemade vinaigrette, or protein protein protein. Yum. It’s as if the heavens have opened and I can hear the angels singing.

So I am now officially back down to the weight I was at my lowest pre-break-up. Hurray! I don’t feel like I look as good as I did then, which is probably because my muscle mass is down since I haven’t gone for a run in ages and just this week finally made it back to yoga. But taking 4-mile walks to the library with the kiddies during work, and re-introducing myself to my yoga mat will even things out soon, and then I may finally–FINALLY–be on my way to meeting my goal weight.

This has not been an easy journey, but I have not  any point, fully fallen off the wagon.  I’m not sure why my body suddenly decided to get happy about Paleo,  but I’m not going to question it. I’m just going to be thankful that my brain and my body are on the same page, and I might be able to ride this train to my final destination: physical health and self-confidence.

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My tongue is purple…and happy

I just ate a bowl of beets for lunch, and you know what? I’m full and happy.

And satisfied.

For years and years and…well, let’s be honest here–for well over a decade, I never really knew what it was to be satisfied. I ate so much, but even when I was distended and uncomfortable and considering making myself throw-up just to feel a little bit better, I still wanted more. I don’t really remember a day that I ate a plate of food, sat back and said, “I’m done. I’m good.” I always wanted seconds of something–in retrospect, it was usually whatever had the most carbohydrates–and I always wanted dessert. Always.

ALWAYS.

ALWAYS.

Do you get me here? Do you understand what that was like? If you do, I am sorry, because it sucked. It sucked SO MUCH.

Then, a few months ago, when I started playing with paleo, I suddenly learned what it was to be done eating and OK with it. I had been weening myself off of sugars for a few weeks the first time I really noticed it was happening.  It was a Saturday night, I was going out with friends in the evening, and I didn’t have much time to throw together a meal for myself. So I just steamed a bunch of broccoli real quick, and reheated some grilled chicken. I ate my sad little dinner in about 4 minutes…and I was full. Not stuffed, but no longer hungry. And even better, I wasn’t sitting there thinking, “You what would be really good right about now? Ice cream or garlic bread or 17 Reese’s cups.” I was totally and completely satisfied. Mind=BLOWN

When I eat a healthful, low or no sugar meal, I get to enjoy that feeling. It is only when I allow myself unfriendly foods that I backslide into the hell that is over-fullness and still wanting more More MORE. Last night at a family gathering  I was being “good”: I ate a big salad, some fruit, a couple bites of sub-par pasta salad, and I was pretty much done. But–oh, of course there’s a but, there’s always a but–then the cheesy potatoes came out of the oven. And then the cake was served. (THIS is the problem with having a large Italian family that gets together all the time) And in true Pamela form I caved.

Why, oh why, do I always fucking cave?

It was the only meal I ate yesterday, so I didn’t completely screw myself, but I did leave that party feeling…blah. Just too full. And I had cake on the brain the rest of the night.

[Christ, do I hope this is the last time I have to write about losing another battle against sugar. I know eventually I will win the goddamn war, but I just have too many tales of defeat.]

But then today, I eat my eggs for breakfast and BOOM! Full. Four hours later I’m not yet truly hungry but I know I should eat so I enjoy a bowl of roasted beets, enough that my tongue turns a lovely shade of magenta, and I am totally satisfied. It’s such a fabulous feeling.

Since going (mostly) paleo, I can make a meal of such simple things and truly enjoy it. A green salad with thinly sliced beef and just a little bleu cheese: killer and filling. A can of tuna (yeah, freaking tuna) with capers, red pepper, and celery: perfect and I’m perfectly full. When I roast a head of cauliflower,  I need nothing else. (That said, I will pair it with a lovely protein, but the point is, I don’t need to to feel satisfied.) In fact, roasted cauliflower may be my very favorite food now. Shall I share my recipe?

OK, twist my arm, why don’t you.

Roasted Cauliflower

1 large head of cauliflower, cut into florets

1 tablespoon of extra virgin olive oil

1 teaspoon kosher salt, at least

1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Note: Just the above ingredients together are fabulous but I add these additional seasonings for something a bit more special.

1/2 teaspoon garlic powder

1/4 teaspoon cumin (freshly ground if possible)

1/4 teaspoon ground coriander

1/8 teaspoon tumeric

Preheat your oven to 450 degrees. Toss your florets in the olive oil and spread on a baking sheet OR grease the baking sheet with half of the oil and drizzle the rest over the cauliflower (I prefer the second method because you may end up using less oil–gotta watch those omega 6s). Evenly sprinkle the cauliflower with  seasonings (and by all means, try any seasoning you like!) but be sure to be generous with the salt. Then pop the baking sheet into the oven until you can smell the cauliflower (it’s a great, nutty aroma, you’ll know it when you smell it), or about 15 minutes. Turn the florets, and then bake another 10-15 minutes, or until evenly browned. The more browned they get, the more condensed the flavor gets, but then the texture is less al dente. So kinda play with the recipe until you find what works best for you. Finally, eat, love, be satisfied.

It’s moments like this when I don’t understand why I bother with sugar. I mean, OK, sometimes it’s just worth it, (I will probably go to Inn Season cafe for the world’s best chocolate mousse on my birthday) but normally it’s just…not. I feel so much happier in brain and body when I eat my simple paleo-friendly foods than I do when I ingest even small amounts of  sugar. I need to remind myself in those pathetic moments when I’m considering allowing my addiction to rule my actions that I will feel so much better if I resist the carbohydrate siren call.  I need to remind myself of how I feel right now: happy and satisfied…and proud of my purple tongue.

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The Battle of the Bulg(ing Waistline) Vol. 3

Yes, it’s that time again: I am going to talk about my food struggles. Aren’t you excited?

It’s been one week since I announced Get Fit Quest 2011, with a deadline set for my ever-looming birthday. And I have to say I’ve done a fairly good job. From flank steak to salmon, from squash to bacon-topped salad, it was a very Paleo-friendly week. I went nearly 100% grain-free for a few days, and then when I gave in and had a little bit of pasta, it was just a little bit. Hell yeah self-control! In just a couple days of forsaking nearly all sugars, I felt really great and could have sworn I already looked thinner. But then, oh but then, yesterday happened.

I went to a baby shower (see my opinion on that matter here) and the room was filled to the ceiling with carbs. The little snacks on the table consisted of goldfish crackers (one of my dearest loves), chocolate covered peanuts, chex-ish mix, punch, and soda. *twirls finger over head* It was my own personal walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. I sipped water and prayed that lunch would be served before my will broke down. But here’s the funny thing: I didn’t even want any of that stuff. It didn’t sound appetizing. But someone in me my body remembered that a certain wonderful and addictive satisfaction would come with nibbling, and it’s just too easy to let your hand act of its own accord and grab a handful of munchies.

I resisted, and then filled up on salad, steamed veggies and roast beef during lunch. And I was happily and comfortably full. So happy and comfortable that I easily passed up the dry-looking cake. But you try explaining your diet in a room where the star is a pregnant woman…it’s frowned upon. So I was being pressured by my table mates to partake in the treats. I had already poured myself a small glass of alcoholic punch and declared that it would be my dessert but they weren’t happy with that, so I grabbed one chocolate covered peanut to prove a point, popped it in my mouth and said, “There. Happy?” And even though I hadn’t wanted the freaking candy, and even though it didn’t even taste that good, the switch was flipped and suddenly I wanted more. My sugar-addiction that I’ve been suppressing kicked in, the dopamine kicked in, and I just…couldn’t help myself. I ate the whole bowl.

I’m so disappointed.

When I left, I remembered this Paleo Pepper post and started forming a plan for the rest of the day. So I had a moment of weakness, it didn’t have to continue into a full-blown binge. But alas, I followed up one food-ridden shin-dig with a family party where there was…*drumroll*…more cake! And this time I had not a friend but an auntie demanding that I help make some of the leftover food disappear, plus, the cake actually looked good (which was probably just an illusion caused by the dopamine coursing through my veins) so I had a piece. And then took two more home and ate them before I even got in the door. I didn’t eat anything else the rest of the night except a carrot before I took my vitamins, but still, I define that as a binge, albeit a small one.

Again, SO DISAPPOINTED.

This isn’t the first time this has happened. A little over a month ago, I had been doing very well, hadn’t eaten anything sweet for almost a week, and then I baked cookies with the little lady I watch, and I tried one to make sure they were fit to feed the kid, and it led to a two-day binge. And NOT a small one. It got to the point that I had to sit on my hands, and eventually had to email Ms. Pepper herself for support because I was about to go out to buy ice cream so that I could continue sabotaging myself. She talked me off the ledge and helped me get back on track (SHE ABSOLUTELY ROCKS!) but I knew what I was capable of. I knew that I could snap and eat so much sugar that I wanted to throw up but still want more. It’s a frightening thing g to watch yourself sink so fast and feel like you can’t stop it.

So yesterday could have been much worse, but I’m still not pleased that it happened. I’m not happy that I let peer pressure–fucking peer pressure–get to me. I’m not happy that I saw what was coming before it happened and didn’t do something to stop it (I mean, I could have simply gotten up from the table! But I didn’t.) I’m not happy that even after an hour-long break and making a plan to stop myself, I couldn’t stop myself.

Thankfully, my binge ended by 7 PM and I had a lovely 14-hour fast to recover. This morning I started the day with some broccoli and a few breakfast sausages then hauled my ass to an intense vinyasa yoga class that made my freaking elbows sweat. I followed that up with a 3 mile walk with my dog and mowing the lawn with my manual mower (a GREAT WORKOUT. I highly recommend any able-bodied person forgo the gas-powered noisy machine and just pick up a cheap rotary blade mower.) Finally, I ate a bunless burger, some sweet potato fries and a big cherry tomato salad.  So I feel much better about life today.

Now I’m preparing for a new week ahead of me full of protein and hard workouts. After those couple wonderful carb-free days last week, I really don’t have any excuses anymore: I need to dive headfirst into paleo. And not just when it comes to grains and sugar; I need cut down on my omega-6 intake, I need to start saying farewell to dairy, I need to have faith and take the plunge. It’s time to really out my well-being ahead of my appetite. And, frankly, my appetite is even beginning to give up on toxins, so why am I still giving myself the option.

I think the time is now. I’m going primal!

Wish me luck, friends!

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My Veggie Tale

Have you ever felt compelled to do or be something? You couldn’t say why exactly you were being called, but you heard the call nevertheless and wanted to respond? Long ago, I felt compelled to become a vegetarian.

Maybe it was because I never particularly enjoyed meat. Maybe it was because I love animals and even if it wasn’t a moral issue to me, it was a comfort issue. Maybe it was because I so easily blended into the background, and I really just needed something to make me feel different from the other drones in Warren. All I know is, when I had to right a song about myself in the 8th grade, a line in the chorus was “I want to be a vegetarian.” So, after barely touching red meat for a year, I cut all meat out of my diet completely the summer before 10th grade.

Golly, was I proud! It felt like a real accomplishment, even though my life barely changed. I still ate loads of pizza, just without the pepperoni. I still ate heaping bowls full of spaghetti, just with spicy marinara instead of meat sauce. I still ate way too much dessert. Now, I wasn’t a complete and utter cow. I also still ate enormous salads and massive bowls of steamed broccoli and cauliflower and fruit fruit fruit. But I didn’t feel deprived by not having chicken, so, I ask you, was there really any feat there?

Allow me to answer that question: No.

During this time, I had a cold perhaps 10 months out of the year. And my hair slowly but surely went from thick and frizzy to thin and wispy. And my nails yellowed. And I had a headache nearly every day. And I had awful insomnia.

Did I at any point think that my unhealth could be attributed to my diet? Never. NOT ONCE. My never-ending cold was just my POS immune system—and my immune system was clearly a genetic defect, not vitamin-deficiency related. My hair falling out (yes, it was coming out in clumps, but I still didn’t get the hint) was just the result of normal hormone shifts. My nails were from wearing nail polish with a basecoat. The headaches, well, I’d had migraines since I was 4 years old, so those were par for the course—and I never thought that maybe I could hunt down enough of my triggers that I wouldn’t have those migraines any more The sleep was stress, because I had plenty of that.

I went through life for years, thinking I was healthier than everyone else. I thought I was getting plenty of protein from peanut butter, beans, soy milk, chickenless chicken nuggets, tofu, and veggie burgers. I lived in a daze of superiority: I, the vegetarian, was being good to my body while they, the omnivores, were killing themselves.

Did you read those symptoms up there? I was the one killing myself.

Then, something wonderful happened. I mean, it sucked, but it started me out on the path to a balanced diet: I became soy intolerant. Think of lactose intolerance, but soy. I had struggling with terrible stomach aches for a few months when I finally decided that I needed to do an elimination diet to determine what the fuck was screwing with my tummy. The second I said goodbye to soy, I felt fine. Wonderful, even. So suddenly I lost a lot of the variety of my life. My main protein source was now the enemy, and I suddenly cared more for my health than I had for the previous 7 years combined. And I was suddenly afraid of having a protein deficiency (seems silly now, seeing as I had many deficiencies during those 7 years, protein among them).

Afraid that my health might suffer—HA!—I made a difficult decision: I would start eating chicken again. It was a process, but after a time I enjoyed chicken again and very much enjoyed cooking with my new favorite ingredient. Occasionally I’d try some turkey, or, even more infrequently, pork. I thought I’d fixed my problem. But after a year of eating one animal, thinking all the while that I was being good to my body, I noticed something disturbing.

One evening while getting ready for bed, I looked at my hairline, and I realized I could see the entire curvature of my skull through my hair. My hair had become so sparse I saw more scalp than tresses. IT WAS HORRIFYING.

I was 22 and balding?! No, that would not do. It’s tragic that something as shallow as my hair is what finally showed me how unwell I had been, but at least something finally woke me up.

It took one Google search to find that the main causes of hair loss are protein, iron, and zinc deficiencies. And where do you get the most of those three nutrients? Red meat.

Epiphany.

Now, was I ready to make that leap? No. Not at the time. I started eating loads of fortified cereal and taking my multi-vitamin religiously, but I still wasn’t willing to put myself first. But then Stef told me about the Paleo diet. And one thing she told me really leapt out at me: our bodies, our skin, our muscles are made out of protein; doesn’t it make sense to eat that which we are made out of to be the strongest, healthiest version of ourselves? I was sold.

Now, let me say one thing: after years of being iron deficient, you can taste it. Oreos tasted slightly metallic a few months after I went veg (Yes, Oreos have 15% of your RDA of iron, but I do NOT recommend your supplement your nutrition with cookies). So eating red meat again was difficult. The first time I made beef stew, well, I mostly ate the potatoes and carrots. But after making an incredible batch of lamb stew for St. Patrick’s Day, I was converted. I have bought myself beautiful grass-fed beef tenderloin, I have ordered hamburgers in restaurants, and I am mastering the art of the meat ball.

I am pleased to say that my hair already looks thicker, and my nails have a distinct horizontal stripe—above the stripe they are yellow, below, clean and white.

And for the first time in years, I feel good. My never-ending cold has finally, gloriously ended. I’ve had one migraine in the last month. And I can sleep at night. Soundly.

God, does it feel good to feel good.

I don’t judge anyone for wanting to be a veg (I still hear the call now and then for reasons unknown). And if others can do it and be healthy and feel alive, more power to them. But, as for me, I believe in meat. I can’t save an animal but kill myself.

My name is Pamela Susan Wall, and I am an omnivore.

About. Fucking. Time.

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The Battle of the Bulg(ing Waistline) Vol. 1

Today, mere moments ago in fact, I ate for lunch some sliced turkey breast right out of the deli package, some pan fried sweet potatoes, and homemade far-superior-to-store bought coleslaw (my secret: apple cider vinegar). One quadrant of my brain—the part that operates independently of the rest of my brain, constantly focused on food all day, every day—will over-analyze this meal for the next hour or so. It will ask such vital questions as: Was that enough sweet potato to get half my potassium for the day? How much sugar did they use to cure that turkey? The butter—argh! The butter!—is that my friend or foe? Was I even hungry enough to warrant a meal?

I do this a lot.

That little anecdote is just a brief introduction to my relationship with food. It will take me weeks of writing and dozens of posts to really touch on all the facets of this complex issue, so for now, I’ll take Sister Maria’s advice and start at the very beginning.

When I was conceived…OK, maybe that’s too close to the beginning.

Alright, my mom. I’ll start there. My mom is a freak of nature, God love her. Her metabolism is that of a…hmm…I don’t have an analogy here. Grr. Her metabolism is insane, let’s just put it that way. She is a tiny little person (5’5” and 115 lbs.) and she eats more than most linebackers. She eats salads that spill out of mixing bowls. One Hot N Ready pizza is an appetizer. In my lifetime I have seen hundreds of waitresses blanch when they realize the stick figure in front of them just ate an entire “serves 4” size plate of nachos. She’s the luckiest woman on the planet.

I hate her.

It’s not that she doesn’t have to make some effort for her figure: she works 12-hr shifts without a lunch break, and she plays soccer sometimes 4 times a week (though she’ll dispute this, she’s the best Sweeper in every league she’s ever entered.) But still, growing up watching her devour a horse every night gave me a skewed idea of how much food is a “serving.” I grew accustomed to downing six or seven slices of deep-dish pizza for dinner. I love, love, LOVED cereal, and ate approximately 3x the recommended serving every morning. I would eat a whole package of Oreos over the course of two days without a second though.

When I was pre-pubescent, this gluttonous lifestyle did seem to be a problem. I was 48 pounds in the 4th grade, 52 pounds in the 6th grade. Yes, you read that right. I gained 4 pounds in two years. I was creepy-skinny and never knew it. But the summer before 8th grade, over the course of a matter of months, I ballooned from 52 to 95 pounds. And the numbers on the scale just kept climbing from there. I was mortified— and a little repulsed—by my own weight gain, and it didn’t occur to me that this change was necessary for me to, you know, be a healthy woman. It may not have been so life-shattering had my mom viewed the sudden appearance of hips on her once bony daughter as welcome. But as she watched me try on jeans at Kohl’s, she grimaced and said, “You’re gonna lose a few pounds before you wear those in public, right?” I felt…gross. And hurt. And…disappointed in myself.

When my period made its grand entrance a few months later, things made a bit more sense, but I still wanted nothing more than to be all ribs and shoulder blades again. I developed an unhealthy liking for Self magazine, especially when you consider it’s only slightly less tawdry than Cosmo and I was 14. I started working out. A lot. I was a dancer, and had 8 classes per week, which is a good amount of exercise. But when I’d get home from dance at 10:00pm, I’d pull out dumbbells and do all the ridiculous workout regimens I read about in those magazines to the point that I couldn’t sleep because I had gotten my heart rate up too high too close to bedtime.

All this time, though, I was still eating ludicrous portions of food. I used to say I looked 7 months pregnant after a meal because my abs couldn’t hold my food baby in. But one time at a family gathering, I sat down next to my aunt who was actually 7 months pregnant and our bellies matched. It was disturbing on so many levels.

Around this time I became a vegetarian. It was something I always felt like I should do, even if I didn’t have a concrete reason why, and I figured it would help me be healthier. Turns out, just because you don’t eat animals, you don’t miraculously become svelte. (The whole Veggie Tale is another post).

When I joined the track team my sophomore year, that made a bit of a difference in my body. My weight didn’t decrease but my muscle mass certainly did, so I was a bit more confidant. But the night before a meet I’d eat half a pound of pasta. And after the meet I would go home and eat an entire pan of rice krispie treats. I took carbo-loading to a whole new level, and I was only a sprinter.

My senior year, I was Captain, I was aiming to beat the school record in the 400M, and I was in great shaped thanks to the sports conditioning class I took with the football team. I quit dance so I could my all into track, and I should have kicked ass…were it not for the new head coach. I’ll admit it, I’m still bitter. If I could have stuck with the training regimen my coach for the previous two seasons had designed, I’d have been great. But little Coach What’s-Her-Face thought she knew better and started to have me train with the distance runners. And while I was still fast as hell, my legs aren’t built for distance. I got shin splints within two weeks, and a stress fracture that had me sidelined by midseason. I was the Captain, standing inside the track taking times, watching a freshman take my record in the 400. I wanted to die. I had no physical outlet and my dreams were dashed, so I ate. Even more than usual.

By graduation, I was 157 pounds. My highest weight and my lowest point.

College was my salvation. Escaping the unhealthy view of food in my parents house allowed me to see that you don’t have to eat as if every meal is your last. I learned to eat until I was full, not bursting at the seams. I learned that even if the caf is offering your favorite Turtle cheesecake, if you don’t feel like eating it, then DON’T because they’ll probably have it again next week. I was taking off weight just a few weeks after school started, but when the weight started to fall off, I should have been suspicious.

It wasn’t until the following June on my summer vacation that I learned I had had mono for the past 8 months. So my decreased appetite and sudden shrinking was due to a virus that could have killed me, not my own improving food views. And when your doctor, commands you to sit on the couch and NOT MOVE for one month, well, poundage finds its way back to you.

I could keep cataloging each weight fluctuation I experienced, but I won’t. I’ll just say that I ended up learning about moderation and eventually my weight leveled out at 140 pounds. I told people I was 130 pounds, even when my weight crept up to 145, and I secretly always wished I weight 125. It wasn’t ideal, but I sorta just figured I was stuck at that weight. Like it was my metabolic destiny.

Then, a few months ago, my cousin tells me about this amazing diet she’s on: the Paleo Diet. I am, at first, a total skeptic. I love food, and any diet that says “NO CARBS AT ALL” just sounded insane to me. But she looked great, was healthy, and just had so much to say about how great and happy she felt. I just thought, “Well, I want to be happy. And healthy. It’s worth a shot.” I looked into the science, it all made sense, so I decided to test the waters of this new diet, even if I was still hesitant to say goodbye to pasta (I’m Italian for God’s sake!).

I started really making sure I was getting enough protein, and was cutting sugar out of my diet as much as possible. I lost 4 pounds in a month or so, and that was nice. When I decided to wade into the Paleo pool a little deeper and stopped fearing fat and started really shunning carbs—as it happens, saying goodbye to pasta isn’t so hard—another 6 pounds fell off in less than 2 weeks. I was dumbfounded. I had abs. I’ve never had abs before. EVER. But the most beautiful part wasn’t the weight loss: it was that my hair was growing back (will discuss more in future posts); it was that I had so much energy when I never even realized I was tired before; it was that I didn’t get a cold for 2 months, and I am the perpetually sick girl (again, more about that later). I finally found something that seemed to be working for me.

As I sit here today writing this, I am actually 130 pounds, sometimes 128 depending on the day and how generous the scale is feeling. I feel pretty damn good. I have new issues with sugar binges that I never had to worry about before, and I think about what I’m putting into my body more than I’d like. But all those years I was feeding my belly, not my body. I think it’s reasonable to worry a bit more about your diet when you’re actually concerning yourself with your wellness. And that’s what I keep telling myself here. For years, over a decade, I was unhappy with my body. But more importantly, I wasn’t healthy. Now, I’m a limit approaching healthy (if you don’t get that, study up on your calculus!).

Wellness. It’s the new cool.

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