I Ordered A Salad. So There.

“You got a salad?”

The quizzical yet amused look on my husband’s face was priceless and disturbing at the same time. We were at one of our usual spots, not the wing place or the burger joint or the craft beer bistro, the other one where pizza with extra cheese and spicy sauce was the typical fare after a buttery bread stick snack. Extra napkins required. I was looking at the menu – that I could recite like the alphabet – and nothing looked good. Before I knew what I was doing, I blurted out “SARATOGA SALAD PLEASE” the moment the waitress came over.

I think there comes a time when your body and mind are both fried. Not only from the overdose of battered foods plunged into hot oil, but from the mental war waged on ourselves. Suddenly, you’ve had enough. You crave the taste of health. Your body wants to heal. Your head used to get in the way, rationalizing how one more order of cheesy bread won’t hurt, but now even your own brain can’t take your self sabotage anymore.

It feels good to let go of the inner struggle. To stop the munchie madness that keeps you fat. In the end, it’s always just a choice.

So yes. I choose salad.


Is This Endorphinese? Or . . .

I don’t know if it’s the post exercise endorphins talking, and if it is I’m loving the way they think, but I feel as if a fog has lifted from my mind, my attitude, my overall self.

It’s genuine happiness.

Could it be? Crazy funny goofball ass me? Spewing positivity at even the most curmudgeonous of curmudgeons without a care? Dancing in the grocery store no matter who stares? Fearless in my sarcasm and corny jokes? In real life and not just on my blog for you folks? Yeah baby.

I feel good. Nana nana nana na (James Brown interlude)

Look what a rush of live nutrients, clean eating and activity will do for you. Strip away the crap inside and a shining light breaks through the residue, not to be denied. I literally feel alive. Like my authentic self has been freed. That person I’ve been looking for, for YEARS while simultaneously cramming the very essence of who I am further and further away from my heart and soul with massive amounts of emotional binge eating, beer drinking, and other bad choices that I consciously made. But that is over.

Time to stop hiding. The world needs me.

The Post Workout Happy Zapper…

This isn’t a fitting room, Mr. Gym.

So fuck you and your flourescent lights!

Sorry. I couldn’t hold back.

There’s no better way to deflate the euphoria you feel after working out than to take your elevated heart rate having, chest heaving behind into the bathroom at the gym. Forget the fire engine red face and whispy hairs standing at attention all over my head. Why do I look wider than all outside? I didn’t look this HUGE in my mirror at home before I got my ass to the gym, so why do I look like a massive mound of tapioca pudding wrapped in lycra now?


This is where I need to talk myself up instead of beating myself down. Who cares what I look like after kicking my own ass at the gym? At least I am here, sweating to the beat of my own drum, not caring who is watching while I’m breathing as if I’m having a panic attack.

The point is I am DOING IT.

Why berate when you can praise yourself for getting your tapioca pudding butt running on the treadmill? Yes RUNNING. Not walking, holding onto the bars to avoid the embarrassing fall and subsequent belt trip to the floor, but actually running. Give yourself some credit!

Screw the lights and keep up the fight . . .


Unjunking Myself

I made a decision.

After years of dieting, intermittent exercise and countless amounts of processed, fried and toxic foods crammed down my pie hole, it was time to replenish my body with what I’ve stripped away through hazardous, unhealthy behaviors.

Time to renew my depleted physiological self. Time to start over with a clean, nutrient rich body from the inside out.

Time to REBOOT.

While mentally beating myself into an emotional coma for my dehydration induced swollen ankles several days ago, I came across the documentary  “Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead” and thought hmm. I’m not nearly dead, or even sick. But I am fat and miserable. I’m gonna watch it.

You may have heard of the 2011 film, or maybe not, because I didn’t know it existed until that moment. It chronicles one man’s 60 day journey across the U.S. juicing his way to health. Yes, drinking ONLY juice made from fresh veggies and fruits, filling up with micronutrients to get rid of all the garbage in his body, jump start a plant based lifestyle and most importantly, get off multiple medications.

It was crazy inspiring. Some think it was just plain crazy. But you can’t deny the doctor supervised results.

Clarity. Energy. Vibrancy. WEIGHT LOSS.

I wasn’t looking to do two months of this, the holidays are around the corner for goodness sakes! However for ten days or so, I thought it was doable. Then I can pile the holiday yumminess onto a fresh and clean system! Not really. In actuality, I plan to ease lean animal proteins back into my diet along with eggs and practice moderation. I’ll continue to incorporate raw vegetable juices in my diet daily, as I already feel more alive than I have in a long time!

A few more days to go until my juicy adventure is complete, so till then I’ll have to change my name to Mystery Meatless . . .

Keep Doing What You Are Doing . . .

Really, Doc?

There I was. Every big ol’ ounce of me sat in the doctor’s office to go over blood work, that I probably wouldn’t have gotten done if it weren’t for my refill-needed thyroid medication. Yes I have a built in fat excuse. It’s my thyroid!

Anyway, the office minions forced me to get the platinum phlebotomy package. You haven’t gotten a full work up in a long time they said. You’ll be here anyway they said. Look, we just happen to have a 7am appointment, perfect for fasting blood work they said.

As I awaited the results, I recounted the countless nights eating out, beer filled baseball outings and midnight face stuffings. I anticipated sky high cholesterol, a depressed liver and out of control sugar levels.

And then . . .

“Your blood work results are frameable. I don’t know what you are doing, but keep doing it.”

It’s a miracle! I’m as healthy as an ox, even though I might be as big as one. It’s time to celebrate!

So me and the hubs went out for dinner and a beer.

Doctor’s orders.

Trying To Wing WING NIGHT…

Bad idea.

For about a year and a half, the hubs and I have been slathering ourselves in smoky, tangy, spicy sauces nearly every Wednesday night at this delicious sports bar that just happens to be less than two miles from our place. These cheap, habit-forming, award-winning wings were too close for comfort. But I’m a new person now. I can withstand the WING!

Who am I kidding?

I am going to have to meticulously plan an attack to keep myself from cracking at the first sniff of steamy drumsticks being dipped into creamy homemade ranch dressing . . .

So last Wednesday, that is just what I did. I had a grilled chicken sandwich with a little bit of my favorite wing sauce on the side and I didn’t feel as if I was missing out. Granted, the $8 for the sammy was a 333% price increase over my usual wing night special, however my tummy was much happier for it. And so was my confidence.

I’d say that’s worth the $5.60