Aw shiz, all I want is to fit into my size 4 skinnies again. What’s that they say – once a size 4, always a size 4? But who really knows anymore who to believe? One woman’s grain is another gal’s gluten nightmare.
I’m eating lunch with two of my friends at a Japanese restaurant. On the drive over, I decide that a cold bowl of soba and maybe a palm-sized piece of grilled fish will be today’s healthful choice. Turns out my friends are both on the Paleo diet – no to noodles – so we three end up scarfing down a medium sized plate of tuna sashimi and maybe two heads of shredded cabbage, hold the sesame dressing.
From my “Paleolithic” friends I learn that whole grains are bad – buh-bye oatmeal! – but meat and eggs are good. Seems that the last 10,000 years of human development have been a nutritional crock: our digestive systems weren’t meant to be digesting grains; leave those to the birds because their systems can handle it. What I really need to do now is eat like a cave-woman. What’s that? Peanuts and peanut butter are also out? Oh yeah, because peanuts are legumes. My friends deliver such a convincing argument that I’m convinced Paleo is the way to go. Size 4 skinnies, here I come!
It used to be so easy to lose weight and live healthily: eat less, move more. Nowadays, eating healthy is beyond complicated, it’s conflicted. But at least everyone agrees that eating more fruits and veg are good for you.
Turns out squash and sweet potatoes are too starchy, so sayonara to those. And forget about nightshade vegetables (peppers, eggplants, etc.) because they contain minute amounts of poisonous glycoalkaloids – not sure what that means but hello! it’s poison, I read it in a blog. As for fruits – pineapples and mangoes are death, too sugary; bananas too.
The Cohen diet’s got nothing on my Paleo, and I didn’t even have to pay 60-grand for a blood test or give up exercise. Asking me to give up my workout? Tsk, tsk. Everyone knows that being active is part of getting a killer bod.
Now that I’ve gotten Paleo down pat, I’m totally hardcore now. I’ve become a semi-vegan (won’t give up eggs and organic honey) because it’s cool to care about the environment and stuff, plus, the less I can eat, the faster it is for me to make menu decisions. I‘ve given up gluten too, in order to obliterate temptation. These days, I’m all about kale (hella expensive stuff), almond milk, and cashew cheese. Forget soy, it’ll just mess up my estrogen levels.
Restaurants will have to take a backseat for now because I can’t trust anyone else to prepare my food. Absolute control over what I put in my mouth is vital. My friends will also just have to deal if I can’t eat with them anymore. They say I’m overdoing it and why can’t I join them in enjoying the roast porchetta? Because my cheat day isn’t until my birthday, which is three months away.
I’m so good looking, I can’t stand it; I’m like sex in high heels. I can count my ribs and wow, if my clavicle gets any more prominent, I’ll end up puncturing myself in the chin. But because I’m almost always hungry, I’m almost always grouchy too. No wonder those skinny celebs don’t smile in photos.
Eventually, overdoing it does me in.
A lack of solid protein and dairy points to a vitamin B12 deficiency as evidenced by my lethargy and vision problems, among other symptoms. And I’ve got kidney stones caused by the oxalic acid in all the leafy greens I was subsisting on.
My doctor recommends I eat heaps of lean meat and dairy, stat. Oddly enough, I feel like I’ve just been released from a prison I put myself in.
“There’s no point in looking good on the outside if your insides are all messed up,” my doctor chides me. “To be healthy, eat a variety of foods and exercise.”
She looks at me sharply over her narrow-rimmed Prada eyeglasses. “It really is that simple, so quit over-thinking it. Life is too precious to not be delicious.”