So many choices. So many paths. What we put in our stomachs as the "optimal diet" has become not only an obsession, but for many it is nearly a religion. Yes, our society has always been susceptible to the latest and greatest nutritional craze. In my lifetime I have seen food gurus run the gamut. Atkins, Low Carb, High Carb, No Carb, High Protein, Low Protein, Biggest Loser, Raw, South Beach, The Zone, Cleansing, Alkaline, Blood Type. Hell, I have fallen prey to more than a few radical ideas to lose weight.
My weight has been an issue for me since I was about 11 years old. In the fifth grade, I was the fat kid. Yes, there was one girl heavier than I was, but I was still the fat kid. I remember the public humiliation of being weighed and measured. It was something done every year, we lined up, and one by one, in full sight of our peers, were weighed and our height was recorded. I remember the burning shame of being 135 pounds, at age eleven. To make matters worse, my Mom took me to the family doctor, telling him she was concerned about my weight. I was mortified. His response, "It's just baby fat, she'll get a growth spurt and stretch out." He was right, I did. But I carried that shame with me for decades, and it led me through many fad diets as a teenager, even though I wasn't overweight. The damage was done.
Pregnancy was when my weight soared. My weight yo-yoed over then next 25 years. I always worked out, kept physically active, but I was always wishing for that Miracle Diet. The Fix. The Cure. It was a nervous breakdown that finally flipped a switch for me. True, a mental meltdown can really kill the appetite. Insomnia, stress and depression made me nearly unable to eat. And since I wasn't sleeping either, long hours on the treadmill at O'dark-thirty in the morning seemed like a good expenditure of my time. No, this was not the healthiest way to drop weight. But what it did was make me very cognizant of what I put into my body to counteract the insomnia, stress, and depression.
I began to truly listen to my body. Feed the need. I found direct correlations between what I fed myself, and how it made me feel. These days I am vegetarian, not for moral reasons (though that is happening) but because meat makes my joints ache even more than they always do. I am largely dairy free since my digestive tract has decided that dairy is evil. I am mostly wheat free, not because of the gluten-free craze, but because wheat gives me volcanic heartburn (a sign of inflammation, actually). I don't eat fried foods, or gooey desserts, and I don't drink alcohol because they all make me feel less than optimal. I avoid prepackaged foods because I don't trust the additives and possible GMO's, as well as the fact that I never know if my body will digest the unknown (ate some seasoned crackers the other day, and suffered for 24 hours). Corn syrup, and especially high fructose corn syrup is the devil incarnate, so it does not touch my lips. In other words, "I Eat Clean."
Despite the limitations my body has imposed on me I eat very well. I cook wonderful meals, from scratch. I love baking wheat free breads, and make a pumpkin bread that is mouth watering. I explore new vegetarian recipes, culling some, adding others to the repertoire. I eat a ridiculous amount of fruit. Some days I eat small, frequent meals. Some days I eat three big meals. I eat late at night, sometimes I'm sitting down to dinner at 9:30 because my workout went long. I never skip breakfast. I make sure to get enough protein. I drink a lot of smoothies.
What does all this mean? I am not exactly sure, but I have maintained a healthy weight for the last 3+ years, without giving much thought to calorie counting. I don't focus on what I can't have, but instead love to explore all that I can eat in vast quantities. Yes, I eat a lot. It took me half a century, but I have finally found peace with what I eat. I really have come to believe that "You are what you eat."
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