I've moved!

I've jumped shipped and moved the blog to Wordpress... please follow me over there! We have chips! 

(They're kale chips though. I trust you'll enjoy)

https://fatguygoesvegan.wordpress.com/

Day One. Again.

It's January 1st. Of 2016. Happy New Year!

The start of a new year always marks the start of newness: New habits, new hobbies, new promises, new efforts, new attempts, new ways of being. New Year resolutions tend to trend as the hot topic around any office or social gathering, whether or not there will be any made; if there are - what are they, and if none, why not.

With the linear nature of life, the default is usual to pick something to fix, with a change to an existing life being the focus, and move forward. With that, resolutions usually originate with a negative connotation, manifesting from a place of dissatisfaction and regret: Quit smoking, get healthy, lose weight, and so on.

Year after year we repeat the same personal commitment.

"I'll do better this year."

Ironically, one of the common resolutions is "less TV, more exercise"... The irony? It's television that adjusted my way of thinking as I embrace more exercise this year. Television is linear.

Each new season begins where the other left off, but do we ever really look back with disdain on the number of televisions seasons that have passed? Heck no! Especially with our favorites, we look forward to the next episode, and the next season. And the next. And the next, with the promise,"If they ever cancel this show, I'll...<insert something drastic here>."

For me, it's Season 40, Episode One. 1 of 365, well, technically 1 of 366 because it's a Leap Year. I get an extra day of being 39. How cool is that? The ultimate procrastination! I get to put off turning a year older, and in a milestone year! Funny how getting older causes duress to most. The feeling of getting older usually means looking back with regret and forward with fear; The song "Glory Days" by Springsteen always seems to hit home, especially for men.

Cher once sang, "If I Could Turn Back Time", and it was a hit for reason.

If I were a TV show, I wouldn't be looking back, except maybe to re-watch my favorite episodes. I also wouldn't be stressing about how many seasons I would have left. I would just enjoy the series, each episode at a time. Any critic hopes to see the story line flow in their personally preferred matter, though, with the outcome that they want to see happen. So what's my story line going to be? That's the best part.... to a degree, I do get to decide although somewhere, some how the Great Writer In The Sky (Interpret that your own way) gets their say in it, but ultimately I have somethings I get to decide. 

Today, I decided to start my first day of 2016 on the correct foot. Instead of going right for the coffee maker, I got back on track and put the lemon and apple cider vinegar on the counter.

This concoction has a ton of positive reasons to endure the acidic tangy taste. Read about daily lemon water here, and the benefits of apple cider vinegar over there. Here's where the challenge of veganism though:

How to handle the sweetener?

Cutting out dairy for my coffee is a whole other topic, but when it comes to sugar substitutes, it's a major challenge the moment I leave traditional refined sugars off the menu. This is one that has plagued me for some time now. Artificial sweeteners are a No No. Google "aspartame" and you'll get why. Personally, I can't stand the taste of stevia. So where else can I turn? Honey is the typical response.

Technically speaking, Vegans aren't suppose to eat honey. I won't get into why - you can google that for yourself. So, with honey off the List, what now? Move forward. 

The benefits, for me personally, are related directly to my gout, with secondary benefits being alkalinity, weight loss and so on.

For that reason, despite the lack of a sweetening solution this morning, I just dealt with it. Warm water, a quarter of an organic lemon (squeezed) and an ounce of apple cider vinegar. Stirred it up and sipped on it until it was finally gone. 

Unpleasant? Yup. Fortunately, I know that it's something I'll grow accustomed to after the first few mornings, and will actually come to enjoy. I'm considering trying a steeped green tea, and I'll followup.

The alternative was to fall back into my old ways and just go back to a Double Double to start the day, but that would have been giving up before I got started. Sometimes, you just need to put your head down and trudge forward. Forward on to the next episode. 

Tomorrow is another day. A new day. Again. 

In the mean time, cheers.

Happy groundhog day,

Fat Guy

A Date to Remember...

Memorable occasions are funny. Some permanently infuse in your memory cells like a room of a million candles; some burn brightly while others fade like a candle near the end of its wick, flickering every so quietly and then suddenly gone without notice or notification.

The times that prominently infuse aren't always voluntary or consciously determined either. They just happen. The downside of the electronic age is the death of the Diary, but the great thing about it is Cloud technology, where you can save dates, notes, events, memories much like diaries of the past, but theoretically without ever losing a single virtual cell. The Great Memory in the Sky. A memorable event.. an epic occurrence... a significant date.

The funny thing about the word "date" is that it can mean so many things, which I blame solely on the evolution of the English language. Much like my first significant other, the English language doesn't seem to have a singular pattern, instead made up of so many rules that one almost thinks, in the first few years of learning to understand it, that it just does what it wants, and makes up the rules as it goes. Words in English have a randomness of pronunciation and context. Exempli gratia, I don't remember the date of our first date and whether or not that date shared a date with the first time I tried a date.

One thing is certain, regardless of the first date upon which I shared my first date with a date, it was an unpleasant experience reminding me of an overly large raisin with far too much date-iness. It was an such an unpleasant first date, that I forgot the date of that precise date, blacking it out entirely from memory. Most likely subconsciously, still.

Which brings me to the Pro to outweigh the Con, by forgetting the first date with a date, I was able to enjoy a whirlwind second romance. Not quite a repeat date, and certainly not a double date but a second first date nonetheless. And it's been true love ever since.

In a sea of fish, swarming across a plethora of dating sites, I met my latest love on Pinterest of all places. A date like no other. A diamond in the rough, or rather a medjool to be precise.

Truth be told, the love connection all began with the decision to forego all processed foods (again, or at least as much as I realistically can) such as energy bars, snack foods and so on. I had grown lazy once again, and my scale never lied about it. In fact, I've had to dust off my beloved Omega, that has valiantly stood guard in my kitchen for months now, untouched. I made the conscious decision to force myself back into the steps of healthy eating, and it started with coming up with a healthier way to still snack between meals. 

I have a soft spot for sweets. I can't deny. In fact, as a kid, one of my favorite times of day was between 3:50PM and 5:15PM. It was during that witching hour that I arrived home from school, well in advance of my parents, and I could enjoy mitt fulls of cookies, unencumbered. In fact, I was so elated at this practice I actually wore mitts. The increased surface area meant I could handle more cookies, sometimes having to make two trips just to go back for the giant half litre glass of milk. By age 12, barely standing 5' 2", I weighed in at a "husky" 184 lbs. Needless to say, I owe my childhood obesity to Mr. Christie. I wanted to blame mysterious elves for sneaking into my room while I slept, like sadistic cousins to tooth fairies, and fattening me like a marinade injected ButterBall, but the reality is, the plate on that getaway car said "KEEBLR1" and I was an accomplice.

Back to present day, the adult Fat Guy, no longer living in the rear view mirror of his past (secretly hoping to relive those glorious dates of divine gluttony), I look to find alternative, healthier snacks. Enter: Medjool dates.

More accurately digressing, back to present day dating, I can tell you that romance isn't romance if it doesn't get a little nutty. Medjool dates + cashews = the base for incredible energy bars.

One of the easiest no-cook recipes was simply this: 

1. Equal parts dates to equal parts cashew + 1 tablespoon peanut butter.
2. Thoroughly combine in food processor. Once suitably conditioned, add just a few drips of water (literally one teaspoon at a time) until it STARTS to form a dough. 
3. Remove. Knead. Wrap in parchment or cellophane and refrigerate.

Thereafter, I usually formed my dough into a large brick, similar to a typical brownie size, and coated in organic coconut flakes or crushed pecans, almonds etc.

You can see a similar version here, here or here.

After several takes on this, I have decided that my favorite variant includes a half cup of unsweetened coconut at the time of processing, and a blend of cashew, almonds, pistachio, walnut/pecans. You can get a Premium Blend type nut mix from Costco, but those are just added as a portion of the receipe, the base is predominantly cashew. Just to add a little nutty flair, you know?

You can imagine how I fell in love at first bite, and kept on the path of this nutty-dating, with nothing less than enjoyable variation! After all, variety is the spice of life! Or is that saffron? No saffron is the divorce of spice, being the costliest.. but I digress...

The reality of the matter is this: By the time you leave the house, drive to the store, buy that junk food you're craving, get home and load up Netflix, I'll have already whipped up three batches of a completely raw, healthy-by-comparison alternative (nothing is good when over done) and within nothing short of achieving satisfaction. Unless of course you're craving chips, in which case that's a completely different blog post topic. Right now we're dealing with sweets... 

The question is whether or not you've had a bad date in past and whether you're open to try dating again. Especially dates with nuts. Total nutbars. I highly recommend it, depending on which context of the English language you're speaking of!

Cash-ew again at a later Date!
Fat Guy

Soya Wanna Be A Gangsta

"Sip the Juice, I got enough to go around..." - Eric B and Rakim

I'm going to give away my age again, but in the height of my mid-teens, the American crime thriller, Juice, hit theaters. It's title track, "Juice (Know The Ledge)", was virtually on repeat for weeks, if not months, on stereos everywhere and my bedroom boombox was no exception.

The "juice" referred to respect, or street cred, for which we all tend to be judged: How tough are we? Survival of the fittest. How Darwinian.

On that same soundtrack there was another title, "So Ya Wanna Be A Gangsta", by Too $hort, an ambivalent question of being sought out on both sides of the law for opposing reasons.

Recollection of that song brought out the Weird Al composer in me, as I tried coming up with my own 90s style slow-jam deep voice rap:

"So ya wanna be a vegan

And all that jazz

Just plants, no meat

No thanks, I'll pass"

I crack me up with my own sarcastic wit, I assure you.

Yes, I am comparing being veg*n to being a gangster. Ridiculous notion? At first, perhaps, but consider for the fact that it goes against mainstream, social following and it flaunts a blatant opposition to the governing bodies.

Milk doesn't do a body good, no matter what The Man tells you.

Now, that said, I'm not recommending you buy a handkerchief to wear on your head and tie the knot on your forehead, and brandish firearms to complete the look, although I will admit that sometimes a handkerchief definitely does help me keep the sweat outta my eyes at the gym.

What I can tell you is that it's incredible what lengths you will have to go to in order to justify why you abstain from meat, if you volunteer that you're "going vegetarian" at social events. 

You *will* spend more time bantering with friends and family about the merits of being a PBP and where you "get your protein from".

The first guess is always,"So you live on Salad?"

Then at some point, the smart ass of the group will point out that "plants are living creatures too."

Next thing you know you'll need to get tear drop tattoos, you plantkiller, you.

Sadly, the factor I think most people miss more than anything is that in factory farming, like any business, the idea is to turn a profit. To turn a faster profit, one must run more inventory through the doors. In the case of factory farming, the inventory is animals. To move more through the door, you need to breed them and grow them and then process them faster and faster.

Enter growth hormones and anti-inflammatory medications. 

Then of course, if you're like me and you juice, you'll need to justify why you take perfectly good fruits and vegetables, process them and discard the fibrous parts, and drink an unholy concoction of greenness that looks radioactive. 

"But Fat Guy..... those juicing diets are all fads!"

It's funny how those closest to you will be the ones that oppose your decisions the most.

This morning marked the start of my return to juicing. God, I missed it. I have taken nearly a year long hiatus for two reasons: the cost and the availability of organic produce.

You see, in the last two years since I took The Change, I've found standard produce just isn't enjoyable anymore, but mainstream grocery stores regard margins as more valuable than quality, and smaller scale operations can't always deliver healthy product in enough supply continuously through the year. I mean after all, Mother Nature IS cyclical. 

And then it happened. I found Whole Foods Market. I found my Mecca. I found my Shangri-la. I found my zen place.

I had been told it was overpriced. I had been told it was just another store. I was told wrong.

As a Northerner, living in Toronto, Ontario, I am somewhat limited in my options a few months of the year. In fact, until this month I had only ever seen one type of kale in our stores. Imagine my pleasure to find several varieties - and organic to boot.

I found a re-energized reason for excitement to bring to the conversation, "So ya wanna be a vegan?"

I found a place with the street cred to back my own. I found a safe haven, a place that will provide for my habit. I found the motherload. To juice. 

And so I did. I juiced this morning for the first time in a year. And it was good juice. Once again I could leave the house with my green goodness, a mineral and vitamin rich food source that was quickly and easily absorbed into my empty belly. Is it partially my imagination that hours later I thought I could feel a difference from my usual toast-and-peanut-butter start? Perhaps, but I'm not convinced. My gut instinct tells me there is a difference.

One more step in the right direction.

Spring is around the corner, with just a few more weeks before I can get back to enjoyable jogging out doors. I have found a fresh new source of enjoyable produce. I've discovered another reason to be excited about staying positive about being a PBP. All of which means that in a few more weeks, I'll be back down to the weight I was at, and even closer to the weight that I want to be.

Some day I won't be a fat guy. But I'll always be your Fat Guy who went vegan. The loss of weight might make the name sound a little funny when they ask, "Your name is Fat Guy? But you're not fat....?"

Exactly. But it's taken time. And persistence. I can assure you this is not easy. My love for food, above almost everything else in existence, has created demon cravings that my willpower can sometimes not even resist. Hence, being vegan has become much like being a hygenic person - every day I have to shower. Taking one bath doesn't make me "clean" for life. One day at a time.

But one day I'll prove being a plant-based person (PBP) works. I'll have street cred.

Sipping my juice, hanging on by my fingertips,

FG

A Tahini Tahiney Difference....

"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."

Lao-tzu, The Way of Lao-tzu
Chinese philosopher (604 BC - 531 BC)

Have you ever gone for a long walk in sandals? Imagine how much different (Read "easier" or "enjoyable") the walk would have been in running shoes?

I can't tell you how many times, years ago, I was out on a hike with my Boy Scout troop and I'd surely realize why I should have packed hiking shoes instead of runners. You see, sometimes its the little things that make the biggest differences.

I made my first batch of tahini tonight, as part of an effort to make roasted red pepper hummus. Why? Because I love it. There's a particular brand at CostCo, that comes in a three pack for $10 that is to die for! OK. Not to die for. To murder for though, yes! As in, if there was just one pack left and someone almost beat me to it, I'd surely cut their arms off and watch them bleed to death as I headed for the check out, not withstanding the time it took to grab crackers first. Nom nom nom....

Back to my point.

So tonight, I made the decision to make hummus for the first time. Well... not the first time ever, but I refuse to ever speak of the first time, whereby I used so much garlic I nearly died (more on that catastrophe later). Rather that have a repeat of the first attempt years ago, I reattempted said hummus with a new receipe and four fewer bulbs of garlic; instead, I included red pepper, cumin, lemon juice and home made tahini.

Why such an intent to go homemade? Simple. There's been such a difference in life by making a small adjustment called "additive free". There is absolutely no reason to buy anything pre-made. Tonight's project took less than an hour and yielded a higher quality product than I can buy, meaning that for the same amount of time it would take me to drive to the store, find the ready made product, cash out, drive home and get ready to eat it, I had it made from scratch: no preservatives, no additives.

"...but Fat Guy, that takes so much extra work/time/effort!"

You know what takes a lot of effort? Going to the hospital for an ultrasound. Spending hours in a doctor's office waiting to see a gastrointestinal specialist. Investing time and lost wages in time off work due to unexplained stomach pains that your family doctor can't pinpoint. Or simply, your own sanity and happiness.

It seems to me that more people than not have gastrointestinal issues these days. Stomach pains, bloating, bleeding, the "runs", gas, gurgles... or just otherwise unsettle stomachs. Would you believe me if I told you it might not **just** be gluten?

Take xanthan gum for example. It's a common food additive that acts as a thickening agent, which has never required human trials because it's not considered to have generated concerns in animal testing to warrant further testing. Which is true if you consider bloating, gas and it's effectiveness as a laxative to be acceptable side affects. Tell that to someone with IBS, or worse (ie. colitis, Crohn's).

I'm sure I don't need to mention Monosodium Glutamate, but I will. MSG is commonly found in snack foods, not to mentioned take-away or take-out, and (quote)  Studies show that regular consumption of MSG may result in adverse side effects which include depression, disorientation, eye damage, fatigue, headaches, and obesity. MSG effects the neurological pathways of the brain and disengaged the "I'm full" function which explains the effects of weight gain. I can tell you from personal experience that I no longer tolerate any MSG in my foods purely based on the differences I feel after consuming items that contain it. 

Don't believe it? Consume an entire bag of Dorito's, or flavored sunflower seeds, and tell me you don't feel different. Yet these foods are fed, sometimes unknowingly, to children as snacks.

How does this relate to my trek to achieving vegreatness? It compounds for me the ROI of my efforts to move towards a natural plant-based diet.

I spent an hour tonight in the kitchen. It all started with the need for tahini paste, to make a hummus.

One cup of sesame seeds. Check.

One pan. Check.

Stove top. Check.

Within 10 mins, I had beautiful golden seeds. 

Another 10 minutes later, compliments of 3 tables spoons of light olive oil and a food processor, and I have a paste that resembles peanut butter.

Tahini paste. Check.

Next, a can of chick peas, half a lemon (juice only), a clove of garlic, some ground cumin, a teaspoon of salt and a few shakes of cayenne pepper, and I was staring down the barrel of a beautiful hummus. 

Now, to add the roasted red peppers... Do you know what it takes to roast your own red peppers? Red peppers. That's it!

Wash. Cut in half. De-seed. Press flat on a pan. Lay under broiler for 10-15 minutes, or until the skin blackens. The best part was they cooked concurrently with the production of the tahini. 

There I was, basking in the magical light of my overhead range vent, pureeing away a few cups of readily available products and in less time than it would take to run to a CostCo and find parking, I was making a beautiful additive-free hummus. All it needed was the red peppers.

It turned out to be a pretty salmon colored hummus, light and airy from the efforts of the whirling KitchenAid blade. The taste was pure heaven.

Years ago, I tried to make hummus, and failed greatly, with absolutely no hindsight understanding of why I did it wrong. I picked the right chick peas, had all of my mis en place ready. I was naturally smart and a quick study, even back then. Yet for some reason, I had it in my mind that I was going to make the best garlic hummus that man kind had ever experienced, so rather than using 4-5 cloves, I used 4-5 heads of garlic.

It was delicious, albeit potent. The burn on the tongue was enjoyable, especially with salty chips. Unfortunately, it didn't stop there. If only the halitosis was the problem. 

You see, chopping or crushing garlic releases the compound allicin, which then breaks down into four other smelly compounds. The most mischievous of them is allyl methyl sulfide, which can linger in your body for a long time. It not only causes your breath to go rank, but as it seeps into your bloodstream, it also gets into your sweat and pee.

Suddenly, all I could smell was garlic. Waves of stench. Seconds turned into hours. Hours turned into Days. Days turned into weeks. And that was just the first 29 minutes.

It had only been a half hour or so since I polished off the batch, but an eternity crept by as the stench of garlic overpowered me.

The only thing I could do to save my sanity was stand in the shower, the water pouring over me, washing off the fumes of sulfur as it emanated from my pores. Once the water turned cold, I was off to the bed room to lay in front of a fan where the continuous blast of freshened air staved off some what of the smell, barely holding off the nausea that accompanies my garlic overdoes, until the hot water heater had done its job and I could get back into the shower.

I swore off hummus - and garlic - for years. Who knew such a small difference in interpreting a recipe would make such a drastic difference.

Back to Present Day... here I sit in my kitchen, with a fresh batch of the absolutely finest hummus I've had. No additives. No preservatives. No parking woes. No overdose. No big deal. 

And damn it tastes good. Except for one thing... I roasted the sesame seeds a little too long. They're a tad bitter and it's overpowering the subtle taste of sweet roasted red pepper. Unfortunately, when roasting the sesame seeds, I went by smell and sight, not taste, waiting until they really looked roasted. 

Next time I won't cook them as long. Funny, how just a few seconds longer made such a big difference out of such a tiny detail.

Sulfurically yours,

FatGuy

Thyme is on my side, yes it is....

"Until I am measured I am not known,Yet how you miss me when I have flown."  Time.

Time is a funny thing. It's that one thing we can't hold on to, save, bank, spare or otherwise take back. It's directional. It's intangible.

At some point, every man reaches the moment in his life where he utters the words of his father, a timeless echo,"...Youth is wasted on the young."

There are no take-backsies. That statement is so evident to me in the time that has passed since I began this journey; it is even more so evident in the time I spent "pausing" my journey. It is evident in the comparisons of where I was and how far I've come and the goals I've reached. And haven't reached.

A lot of time has passed since I first watched Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead, the Joe Cross film that contributed to my evolution. As such, a lot of time has passed for the main characters. 

It's amazing to see what they did with their time, over the past few years.

Mr. Cross has gone on to build a juicing empire, with the Reboot brand. Man, am I ever proud of that man, and I haven't even met him.

And his guy Phil. Phil the trucker. Phil, my identical twin from another mother. Phil who, much like myself, found himself slipping back into the gaping maws of the Sarlacc pit known as Depression, Stress Eating, and Emotional Eating. Phil who bared his soul to the world, and shared his sadness about regressing yet is clawing his way back into healthy living. Man, am I ever proud of that man too, and I haven't even met him. But I know him.

And yet, it was the times that we experienced - good, bad and ugly - that put Life into perspective and allows us to course correct. Let's face it - if it was all smooth sailing, it would be bloody boring!

In fact, would it be fair to say that without revelations about what we're missing, we wouldn't change? No new experiences! No experimentation! There would be no need for difference if it were unnecessary! 

Fast forward nearly two years after my veg*n transition began, I live in one of the most culturally diverse cities in North American. I work for a Middle Eastern-family owned company. Our first company dinner was at a Lebanese restaurant. I couldn't pronounce a thing. And I loved it.

Take for example, a simple seasoning....

Za'atar meet Fat Guy. Fat Guy, Za'atar. 

Like the nice, quiet girl or boy reading their book in the far corner of the library, who has been walked by a hundred times, but never spoken to, I've probably passed canisters of Za'atar in the spice section, without paying a single notice too. Not because it isn't deserving, but simply because I wasn't looking for it.

Za'atar is a delightful spice blend. You can read about it here. It's really nothing more than a concoction of spices in a similar manner as curry, jerk, all-season, or any other common regionally-focused, culturally-enhanced blend inspired by the local available herbs and ingredients. And by gosh, it's good. 

You can buy it commercially made, of course, but the real beauty of this blend is in making it from scratch, to your personal preference. The prime ingredient is thyme. Naturally, I opted to dry out fresh organic thyme and grind it down in my handy dandy mortar with pestle, rather than use the canned stuff. That's when it clicked. Again.

I've known for two years now that processed foods are less flavorful, contain more chemicals, and are simply less enjoyable. Seeing fresh ground Thyme up against processed dried Thyme was a visual reminder of all of the things I'd forgotten. In a ring of spices, with three piles of a dried, commercial variant sitting above it, my fresh thyme stood out. Thyme stood still.

Suddenly, I remembered. I realized everything I'd forgotten. I was reminded again of my appreciation for fresh foods, free of preservatives and unnecessary processing. Life became simple again. Healthy eating became clear again. Sharing my pleasures of living simple, but living fully, came back to me in a rush of emotion.

It wasn't just about salads for weight loss. It was about eating healthy, eating right. Moreso, it was about opening back up to the world about my journey. 

So here I am. Back again. On the air. Reminded that my journey wasn't just about weight loss or well being. It was about enjoying the moments, the experience. Although significant time has passed, there is no looking back. I don't have time for that. It's all about looking ahead. I've got time on my side.

I'm still not fully Vegan. Some days, I'm not even Vegetarian. I guess you could say, I'm still trying to figure it all out. But I've got Thyme to figure it out.

Never a thyme-less beauty,
FatGuy

The Wins of Change

As 2013 rolls around to the end, I find myself looking back on the year past with a certain blend of self-satisfaction, humility, regret, admiration and a plethora of other thoughts.

"Walking down the street
Distant memories

In a nod to the Chinese horoscope, it was The Year of The Changling.

Are buried in the past forever
I follow the Moskva

You see, it wasn't just my change in diet. It wasn't just my change in career. It wasn't just my change in exercise. It wasn't just my change in residence. It wasn't just my change into anyone thing once. It was my change of everything. And in some cases, the change back.

Down to Gorky Park
Listening to the wind of change //

In fact, arguably, it wasn't just change at all. It was my evolution.

It was the Year of Evolution.

I began the year as a Veg*n. Unclear of what it all meant, I through myself into a pile of green leaves and carrot sticks, expecting salad would be the death of me, or at least the creative foodie in me. I took up running, I gave up sweets. I took up vegetarian cooking, gave up dairy. I switched it all. The perpetual Fat Kid in me migrated away from a life of highly processed foods, despite all the strange looks from others, and dove into a whirlwind flight of juicer purchases, fresh produce and many-a-meal with coworkers, who spent most of the meal questioning where I intended to "get enough protein?". Enough!

Not quite. I went on for more Change.

I threw caution to the wind and walked away from a stable salary job at the corporate level to shift into an entirely different field, in a Commissioned sales position. Egads!

By mid-year I was back to working fourteen hour days, seven days a week, racking up countless miles on my car. I was spending countless hours haggling prices with prospective clients across tables strewn with coffee cups and littered with the crumbs of a commercial baked pastry. Or five.

I made every effort to stay true to myself; the initial successes I had were slowly halting or worse, being reversed. Soon enough, I skipped meals, stopped packing lunches and strayed back to the fast food lifestyle I'd worked so hard to leave behind. Fortunately, with some gained wisdom I could approach a counter now with a different, more selective view of my former vice.

Needless to say, I became a connoisseur of the veggie patty industry, having sampled nearly every single provider out there, and every combination of toppings.

I spiralled back down into despair. My choices became based, once again, upon convenience, and I bartered with myself for forgiveness...

"I'll get back on track Tomorrow."

Tomorrow. Tomorrow. I love you tomorrow. You're only a day a-way. That perpetually positively optimistic little red headed bitch and her silly song. Tomorrow never comes. It's that imaginary land where humans plant their seeds of procrastination and sow them with their good intentions.

In fact its amazing to have that epiphany of revelation when you suddenly clue in to the fact that Humans are the only living being on the planet that is currently (known to be) able to justify and rationalize: We can rationalize the hell out of anything and everything.

"I'll collapse today because I can rebuild tomorrow."

Yet amongst the hardship of my dietary dedication.... in between the momentary lapses of personal support.... laying within the collapse of my strength of character and in the ruin of my will power lay the catalyst for my re-energization like the crystal shard Clark Kent used to build his crystal palace...

My de-evolution reminded me of just how shitty it feels to be a middle class, mainstream commercialized zombie. Just another victim of the zpoc. The walking dead are here. It's us.

I've come to realize that with just the slight addition of processed meats, dairy, refined sugars or wheats in ones body, the chemistry of us changes. The affects are astounding.

The body is so pure it has an amazing ability to react quickly to outside forces and the realization that I now explode and burst into flames when I consume high sodium, MSG-laden, sugary foods is a clear indicator that factory farming and conveyor belt foods are better left on the shelves to expire.

Thus, this morning with the return to my Omega 8005 juicer ... with the return to my blog..... with the return to my ascent back to greatness.... I return with my head in check. I repent! But I shall not flog myself. The learning has been too great.

Like a feather right out of Forest Gump, I flip flopped back and forth across the currents of the winds, changing directions, and switching destinations. Although I could become bitter at myself and resent the lost time spent, or lamenting the added time to reaching my final goal, I can be excited about my travels.

I switched a few things. I switched a few things back. I took a few steps forward. Then I took a few steps back. And I did and about face. Twice.

But here I am... back on track. A better job, a better house, a better understanding of what it takes. This time, I know better. This time, I win.

I'm Surrounded By More On's

In a sea of inspiring veg*ns and healthy people who inspire me through their regular On Line presence, who are more online, or more frequently online, I return to my Blog in partial shame. 

Shame for the amount of time that has passed since I posted my last Blog entry, around Valentine's day. Partial shame because during my self-imposed, unintentional exodus, I have simply been too busy to "make" time to make a post but have not been so busy as to allow the habits of past sidetrack, derail or otherwise deter me from my goal: To stay true to myself, and to stay the course.

I return to my Blog tonight with pride that albeit somewhat delayed in publication, my archives can continue with success and completion as I march (or rather, jog) onward to my goal.

At the beginning of this journey, I said I would not post numbers, so I will generalize:

It's been 5 1/2 months since red meat. It's been 5 months since cream in my coffee. 

My 5k walk/runs are down to 45 minutes from the 1hr 20 m I started at last year.

I am in a size 38 jeans for the first time since my teens/early 20s.

I juice at least once a day.

100% of my meals are 100% vegetable or meatless.

Three months ago I took a new job outside of the city, roughly 90 minutes from home totally over three hours of commuting a day. In a past life, the late night drive thru's would have become a standard technicality for my travels. 10 hour work days plus three hour commutes means minimum 13 hours working, over half the day, less time for sleep, exercise and house chores means very little time for reactive meal preparation.

Yet, I have not budged.

I am completely in awe of the changes to my world. I am so much more aware of myself and the adverse affects of negative foods and influences upon my life.

Never before have I been so keen to re-invent myself and stay true to my goals and desires.

Nevertheless I have disappointed myself in failing in one aspect: My online interactions. Every day I see the many online friends, followers and fanpages I'm subscribed too filling with awesome materials, ever so engaged, and I am not one of them. But have no fear.... I have not succumbed to temptation. The wheels are still turning on my bus.

Hopefully I'll find some creative energy in the coming days to get back at my Blog and continue to contribute, but in the mean time know that I'm floating around out here; I'm lazily posting to Instagram and Twitter in an effort to still mingle while keeping the flame of Veg*n ambition alive in my world despite the outside influences.

Stoically yours,

Fat Guy

While I was Gout and About...

Author's Note: Composed prior to Valentine's Day, but posted after due to revisions and proofreading delays :)

This year is an iconic (read: ironic) year. As Valentine's Day rolls around there is a satirical, almost pathetic, irony to the fact that I do not have to worry about a fine dining experience at The Keg. This will be the first year in a very long time that I have zero stress about where to make reservations, how much to save up, and whether it will be *ahem* a good night. It will mark over 45-days since I've had meat, and half way through my second month of my veg*n diet. For me, that's a big life change.

Red meat was normal for me for a long time, along with pork, chicken, turkey and occasionally fish. For years, the big worry about meal preparation was "which protein" to choose from. Whilst I was out and about running my grocery errands, I would plan ahead for my meals with ease: Would I go with a steak? A stew? A chop? What meat did I want to prepare for my meal, as if to go along with the sheer coincidence that "MEAL" is made up of almost the entirely same letters as "MEAT". As such, logic dictates that to be a MEAL it should be almost all MEAT, right? That's normal.

I woke up with a foot pain one morning that wasn't normal. Sadly, it was ill-timed with a business trip. I was up all night, far away from home in a hotel room in agony to the point I was barely able to walk. I didn't have medical coverage in the US so I stuck to alternating hot and cold treatments, self-diagnosing the pain as a "twisted" ankle. Hobbling down the hallway the next day at the business office I looked ridiculous, a martyr, but I had to do what I needed to do and get home. Within a few days of prescribed pain killers, the ankle had "healed" and the pain subsided.

This happened a few times over the next few years. The doctors usually turned me away at the emergency room, citing my weight as the reason.

"The body isn't designed to carry such weight", the doctor would say.

"Ok, Got it. That's what you always tell me..." I'd reply, pleading," but can you just do an xray or something to make sure that's what it is?"

Sure enough, my joints were never fractured. Always "soft tissue damage" resulting from "overburdening".

Eventually, the same pain occurred in my knee. I woke up one morning to a familiar dull ache, but in my left knee. I chalked it up to sleeping at a bad angle on a makeshift bed I was on while visiting my dad. By dinner time, I couldn't walk. The next day, my knee was so swollen, red and sore, the joint was virtually frozen at a fixed angle, and to move it was an agony that I have never, nor shall I, ever forget.

The doctor's cited the same reason: My weight. It was suggested that I had torn my meniscus, or ACL, and only time and therapy - and weight loss - would resolve the issue. I physically could not exercise to lose weight, and inactivity bred more fat. Some days, I couldn't even put my own sock on. It was all I could do to dress myself, and thrive on a diet of Celebrex and naproxen sodium (Aleve). To this day, my only saving grace from ulcers and blood toxicity was the amount of water I drank, just enough to dilute the blood and carry out the flushing of my system.

Eventually, I had an MRI completed. The joint specialist advised me, once again, my joints were fine, they simply couldn't take my 335lb weight.

"Knee replacement is inevitable."

I lived that way for years. No answer. No reasons. No resolution. I couldn't work out to save my life. Literally. Hopes and dreams faded as my opportunity to enlist passed by, a career in policing became nearly impossible along with almost every other career requiring physically fit conditioning and my 30's crept up swiftly.

The best way I could describe my "typical" status was this: I could walk down the street, to get To and From, but if a pickpocket stole my wallet I could not chase them. I'd keel over like a cripple without his crutches.

Then one day it hit me - like the boulder on my late Uncle Rick's toe: maybe, it was Gout. It's hereditary, runs in the family and is typical of a middle-aged meat-eater. Almost seven years after my first episode, three doctors later, after multiple emergency room visits, an MRI and regularly completed bloodwork that said All Systems "Go", I attended a Walk-in Clinic and asked to have a test completed for uric acid levels, an indicator of Gout.

Sometimes, I wonder why they call it "Free medicare" in Canada. Maybe, it's because you get what you pay for. The only thing free was my final diagnosis, whereby I finally learned how to be free of pain because we finally had an answer as to why my knee ached: my uric acid count was off the chart. It would take six months of 300-mg per day Allopurinol tablets to bring my bloodwork back in line with a "normal" male. That's twice as long as the usual 90-day loading period. The delay was an indicator just how crystalized the uric acid was in my system, around internal organs besides the indicative joint pain, with the use of allopurinol mobilizing the other, previous unknown areas of concern. Basically, if untreated, Gout kills.

I now maintain a relatively gout-free status, with no inhibition physically. I could even chase a purse-snatcher confidently!

Over six years of my life I spent thinking I was physically damaged, requiring surgery and no one knowing what to fix. Fast forward to 2013, and my braces are off; Like Forest Gump, "I was running...."

Now, to figure out what to eat to maintain my balanced, plant-powered lifestyle. With that comes the complication of meal planning. In days prior, it was basically a selection of either aforementioned meat choice, or which processed food to throw in the oven, or on a "late day" from work the big question was what to pick up on the way home. Holidays were previously not challenging with ease in simply deciding which overpriced restaurant to book reservations with. This year is different.

Planning a healthy dinner takes more effort, especially to find a meal that feels well-rounded, so as to make sure you don't leave the table feeling cheated or like something is missing. For me that means at least three selections on the plate, each one representing a previously favored food group.

For the "main" piece of "meat" tomorrow night I may very well choose a hearty beet. Everything about an oven-roasted beet steak feels right for the main, "meaty" piece of my meal: it's dense, flavorful, requires chewing and is satisfyingly wholesome.

Some of my favorite sides now include steamed broccoli, brussel sprouts, or cauliflower. I'd like to not over-steam them, to retain as many of the nutrients as possible (research 118* Cooking). In the case of cauliflower though, I have fallen in love with pureed cauliflower as a replacement for mashed potato, a beloved food that calls to my Irish heritage.

Baked Kale is now a staple of my dinner time, with varying flavored toppings and seasonings, but nutritional yeast or turmeric and black pepper are among my top favorites.

I almost never have plain ole salad. The obvious choice of omnivores to incorporate plants into their diet screams for flavoring in the form of high calorie, low nutrient dressings that sabotage even the best of diets, unless of course you make your own. There are plenty of dressing recipes on the web. For me, its just an unnecessary step given my meals ARE plants.

The only thing I haven't conquered yet is dessert. Frankly, I'm trying to avoid it.Although flavored dessert tofus, Oreos or sorbets are an easy choice, I typically just skip them altogether. For the special occasions though, I might try the Engine 2 ice-cream recipe that calls for simply frozen bananas and a tablespoon of vanilla extract. In fact, recently, a reader recommended a modified version of this, by suggesting the inclusion of peanut butter while blending. I might have to try the E2 Ice-Cream sooner just to test the theory!

Either way, I'm sure whatever I serve will be healthy, enjoyable and far less expensive and far more healthy than any of my past Valentine's dinners. I recommend the same to all of my loved ones. Cook your hearts out, in a style that's healthy. Your significant others might love the food too. You can bet your hearts on it.

Abnormally Normal

Have you ever found yourself sizing up another person's grocery selection at the grocery store?

Sure you have. We stand in line like cattle on a farm, waiting our turn at the end of the stall to have our purchases processed. While there, we have little to do but stand and look around, and occasionally flick our hair (those that have flickable hair, or any hair at all for that matter). We gaze around at the lights and sights. Sometimes we graze, sorting through the subliminally-planted, spontaneous purchase type foods marketed by deliberately and maliciously placing last in the store that come in the form of high calorie snack foods that taste fantastic.

And we size up other people and their purchases.

Hypothetical scenario. A cart loaded up with vegetables, fruits, and other non-processed items, primarily organic or otherwise "natural". What's the first thing we think of when we see that?

My money is on one word: "healthnut"

That, or "whackjob".

Normal people don't eat only fruits and vegetables. After all, how can they live if they don't get their protein? How do they expect to maintain muscle mass and over all health if they aren't eating protein? How "abnormal" of them to abstain from eating animal proteins and packaged, processed foods!

That gut check is still present weeks after my dietary switch to a plant-based lifestyle commenced. Why do I know this? Two words: "Raw Lasagna".

The Italian food lover in me reeled with disgust, appalled at the food travesty. Until recently, I'd never even heard of such a culinary fiasco! How on earth could one say that this was "lasagna"? The audacity! Absurd! How abnormal!

Everyone knows that real lasagna is pound-upon-pound of meat and dairy layered over white-flour noodles! I am sure that's been exactly how it's made, as handed-down generation after generation from the very first, and surely thoroughly-cooked, lasagna in ancient Italy or where ever the first lasagna dates back to.

In fact, it most certainly needs to come in a glass or tinfoil pan, and be cooked on high heat in the oven until the cheese bubbles and the top noodles become almost crispy from over-baking. That's what a normal lasagna is.

Hotdogs and hamburgers, the good old American food, are the same thing. Treated fairly, the animal meat and by-products that are ground up, formed into patties or tubes and char-grilled for all to enjoy were never meant to be fashioned out of brown rice, soy or mushroom blends! Preposterous! They're meant to have mooed, (or perhaps, as more recent news shows, at least even whinnied) at some point. Everyone knows that! My Uncle Rick knew that!

Uncle Rick was a die-hard red meat lover who proved to me that Man can live on a diet of red meat, no veggies and be cool. He drove a Corvette. He always had the latest electronic gadgets. He gave all of his nieces and nephews the best Christmas gifts, treated us all equally; he was the epitome of the cool uncle. The 70's bachelor living his life in the fast lane and without a care in the world.

Ironically, I related to Rick. I felt very akin to him, with similar personality characteristics as well as physical traits. I envied his record collection, his cars, his toys. I also related to his struggles. Whenever I started to exercise, I would think of the story he told me about the first time he took up running.

Rick had bought himself all the gear, as usual. He had the expensive matching two piece Adidas jogging suit. He had brand new white runners. I think he even got a fancy water bottle before water bottles were even a mainstream accessory. He was so cool he set trends.

He went out for a morning jog, made it a record breaking number of kilometers away and but then realized there was no way to make it home alive. He was so beaten, exhausted and sore he called my grandmother for a ride home.

Rick is the reason I prefer the treadmill.

I remember asking Rick one time why he didn't eat vegetables. He said he didn't like them, they made him sick to his stomach. Instead, he ate one of two things:

A) Two burgers, made of ground beef and hand-pressed into patties, grilled on a gas barbeque, or broiled in the oven, then served up on two fresh-from-the-bakery white flour kaiser buns.

or

B) Sirloin steak, grilled medium well and served with two indulgent slices of fresh, white bread slathered in butter or sweet dinner rolls dressed the same.

Either meal was accompanied with a Morton salt shaker and usually ended with brownies, cake or another sweet desert. Whichever Rick had for lunch was alternated for dinner. Every single day.

There was no variance. There was no interruption or hiatus. I don't think I ever saw Rick even eat a piece of fruit or so much as a vegetable by way of pizza. He simply didn't eat anything else. He was just that cool, like James Dean and his cigarette.

Rick was overweight, diabetic and unhealthy. But man, he was cool.

Much like James Dean, he also died way before his time should have run out, passing away from heart failure in his 50's. No surprise. Yet, we mourned him.

"How could such a sweet young man pass away so young?", the old aunties would weep.

Yet, it should have been no surprise to any of us. In fact, one could argue we were all guilty of murder, or at least manslaughter, for knowingly allowing a man to inflict hazardous damage upon his own health to his detriment. After all, everyone knows you need to get a well balanced meal. If Rick had been been a coke-head, alcoholic or even anorexic, there most certainly would have been an intervention. So why wasn't there?

Because it's normal, right? Mainstream media features men huddled around barbeques, gripping beers and telling war stories, anticipating the luxury of cooked flesh that was about to be served. How many of those commercials feature a man taking a big bite of a brown-rice-and-mushroom vegetarian burger?

Veggie burgers don't sell out stadiums at half-time for the Superbowl. They're for weird people. They're abnormal.

The question is, according to who?

As I journey into the land of Healthy Living, I find myself asking that question alot, and yet it seems to become more and more apparent to me that it's a matter of who you ask. Naturally, big businesses want you to buy more. Hence, they make everything look better, and shiny and new and exciting. Marketing 101. I find myself trusting the opinions of raw food, whole food and vegan diet experts that seem to become more and more frequently featured in the documentaries I find on food.


According to most of them, and by "them" I mean the experts on Food Matters, Hungry for Change, Fat Sick & Nearly Dead, Vegucated, Fresh, Farmageddon, Food Inc, it simply isn't healthy to ingest the majority of the packaged, processed foods that are put on shelves and heavily marketed to us.

But the biggest proof, for me, has been my own body.

Six full weeks into non-dairy, non-animal food consumption, with roughly 60% raw, and 40% cooked, I feel incredible. Everything I was led to believe about switching to organic, wholesome foods has come true. Now, I certainly don't have superpowers. I'm not getting younger. I don't look like The Rock, yet, but I'm healthy(ier).

My body chemistry has changed. I can tell a difference in my own sweat and, subsequently, body odour, at the end of the day or post-workout. I don't have near the stink that I would have had prior when I was consuming meat and dairy. There is definitely a difference in me post-vegan.

My skin is different. Fewer pimples, not nearly the oily sensation around my nose, chin and forehead that I noticed before, and acne that I had on my upper arms my entire life is clearing up.

I have more energy. Less lethargic, and less prone to desiring sleep, and I'm functioning on less and less coffee than ever before in my adult life.

I feel sharper. I don't feel as groggy, and don't have that haze or fog I need to lift or clear each morning. I don't need my afternoon jolt of coffee or sugar to get around the 3PM wall, and my mental state feels more alert.

My breathing has changed. I am no longer perpetually stuffed up. I don't have to clear my throat. I don't have inexplicable phlegm, no post nasal drip, zero mucus-y feeling in my ears, throat or sinuses. I feel like when I take a deep breath, I can feel the air in every pocket of my lungs. There is no fight to get oxygenated.

I recover faster. Previously, the days following a workout were intense. Muscles ached. That's how I knew I'd worked out hard. I'm now pushing my body farther than I've ever expected I could. And the next day, I'm back in the gym, with minimal familiar pain.

According to mainstream media, all of the above are abnormal symptoms and to feel normal, I could have headed to a drugstore and found something to take care of it.

According to the experts on aforementioned documentaries, I just need to eat responsibly and healthy.

So who is right? Who is telling the truth? The truth lies in reality.

The reality is, now I know what it is to feel healthy; I feel normal. For the first time in my life, I feel as if I am a well-oiled machine and in tip top shape right off the factory line. Agreeably, I certainly have a long way to go. I'm know I've not actually plateaued yet, but that is the best part. To think that in just six weeks I have achieved more in healing and self-preservation through simply changing my food sources than years of medication and off-the-shelf-over-the-counter prescriptions could ever, or have ever, done. Simply by eating right; by eating abnormally. According to the commercials they blast us with it's not normal to desire kale, but I do. It's not normal to want salad for dinner or vegetables for a snack or prunes and dates instead of candy bars. But I do.

I wish I could have helped my Uncle Rick embrace abnormal eating. I wish I could have helped him feel as normal as the mainstream diet he was led to believe should have made him feel. His chest pain leading up to his final hospital visit wasn't normal.


What is normal is to feel alive. To feel as healthy as nature intended. And if eating right, and honoring my own health by staying away from heavily marketed, tasty-but-deadly normal foods is the only way for me to stay this way, then I'm ok with it. I'll stick to being abnormally normal.


Abnormally yours,
FatGuy

Instant Persona Non Gratification

With exception to a few "slender" years, I've been fat my whole life.

Big boned. Thick. Of good stock. Whatever you want to call it, I've been built for power, not speed. I'm the stereotypical endomorphic body type, right out of the text books.

And I was a lazy kid.

Don't get me wrong, I worked hard; I just did not enjoy health and fitness. I was deterred at a young age. Sometime around puberty, when growth spurts were taking off, I developed serious leg cramping and knee aches. They were diagnosed as Patellofemoral Pain Syndrome, or as I put it, "a perfectly great excuse to get out of those lousy windsprints" that everyone hated in gym class.

The problem was simple: I was empowered as a child to make my own decision between potentially damaging joint pain and the pain one experiences when challenging their body to push and exceed current limits. When I faced the discomfort of exercise, I pulled out the doctor's note excuse.

"Teacher, I have to stop - my knees hurt."

That sounds wrong for so many reasons. And it was.

If only I could go back in time and slap that child and make him run. It would have done him some good. In reality, not running caused far more damage long term than any short term knee pain would have been.

As such, youth is wasted on the young. Then again, not too much has changed in some ways. For example, the number one personality flaw I've had my entire life is my need for instant gratification. If there was not an immediate benefit, I grew frustrated. I was the child who expected that after thirty minutes of piano practice I should be able to play Mozart's K545 Sonata in C major, completely. Without mistake.

The same went for the guitar. And then golfing. And darts. And basically anything I've ever done from swimming to weight lifting to tennis to cooking. If I couldn't do it well, I gave up. Without mastering the basic, fundamental techniques. Sadly, that personality flaw... that very huge personality flaw... has never subsided. Imagine my shock when I learned that people study the same skills for years, such as a sushi chef who will dedicate years of apprenticeship just to perfect rice! Inconthievable!

I remember playing outside with my childhood friend, Andre. Andre was the stereotypical athletic kid. He had the pennants hanging in his room for a team in every league of every sport. He could play just about any sport we tried. He always seemed to be full of energy. He never just sat and watched TV. Never ran out of breath or broke a sweat. Come to think of it, I don't think he even had sweat glands. Naturally, when he wanted to go throw a football around in the park, that usually meant I ended up huffing, puffing and drenched in sweat, suffering like a rainbow trout in a dry creek bed. He didn't even breathe. Come to think of it, I think he was an android.

Andre broached the subject one day. We were having a lovely time playing "50 yard Olympic Runner", a game I most certainly enjoyed because I hadn't suffered enough yet in Life by that point. After losing the dashing race to the demon spawn that he was for the 279th time, or so it felt, the suspected offspring of Satan suddenly blurts out, "You don't run properly. You have a short step and you don't swing your arms enough."

Five years later, a similar situation occurred during high school basket ball practice.  I was the token fat-guy benchwarmer who never scored a goal, never saved the day, and never impressed the cheerleaders. In fact I think the night I quit suddenly during practice, no one even cared or noticed. I wasn't any good at it, so I didn't want to do it anymore.

I have become tempered somewhat by age, maturity and experience, with experience meaning enough accumulative failures add up to outweigh the instinct to give up and finally wanting to accomplish something. I look back and realize that taking on new tasks and doing something new, uncomfortable or even painful is simply a decision. I just have to want it bad enough. Suddenly, 25 or so years later after suffering alongside Andre the Robot, I can run.

Nothing has changed. It's still hard. But I haven't give up. I've pursued results and I haven't given up, because I am no longer that person who needs to see instant results every day; that person is persona non grata (Latin). No longer welcome in my life. I don't need to run a marathon on my first day.

Tonight, I completed my 2nd day of Week 5 of the couch-to-5k program #5k101app by @toddlange. I was drenched, huffing and puffing. It hurt to practice my new skills but, practice is teaching me how to orchestrate my own Sonata, in whatever Key I choose to be in. I'm not concert-level yet, but I will be.

The best part about completing Week Five Day Two was proving to myself that Week Five Day One wasn't a fluke. Not to be cliche, but if I can do it, anyone can. Even if you have bad knees.

Carpe diem,
Fat Guy

Go Fork Yourself.

"Oh, look! Fat guy on a health kick."

That's what I think they're saying; that's what the look on their faces says to me.

Who's "they", you ask? The over-prepared, self-righteous make-up wearing divas that strut the Organic produce aisle in their designer boots; the very ones at my preferred market-style, vegan-friendly grocery store who are, coincidentally, annoying. They are self-indulgent, judgmental and over-dressed. I mean, really, who needs to spend more time getting ready to go than they actually spend shopping?

Naturally, I garner some looks from those types with my grey, cotton urban-camo hoodie and matching-shade grey track pants, a grey Fruit-of-the-Loom t-shirt and beige Timberlands. I certainly don't look white-collar, but then again I am not there to do anything but get my goods and go. 

Maybe it's just odd to see a six foot tall, 285-lb biker-like ogre picking through the organic sweet potatoes and searching for the nicest organic lemons, among other things.

Perhaps when I am down to 210 and rocking the shiny Adidas sweat suit I'll fit in a little better. Insert eye roll here.

The funny part about the "health nerds" in the "good section" of the market is that you really can't even begin to guess who is truly healthy, from the outside looking in. I recently watched another documentary, by the fine folks that did Forks over Knives called The Engine 2 Diet, which featured a number of real-life participants who went through a life changing re-education about whole and healthy foods, led by diet creator Rip Esselstyn.

Enter rich insurance broker and family. The stereotypical All-American couple. Good looking, thin, well-dressed couple, big house, great backyard, gorgeous kitchen... the neighbors you want to know; the people you want to be. The wife, a vegetarian of 19 years, was even surprised at the changes led by Rip, and the kids were, allegedly, happy with the results of the dietary recommendations that spanned from wholesome panini sandwiches to fresh vegetable pizza to dairy-free ice-cream concocted of simply near-frozen banana.

Chances are I'd have exchanged scowls with Mrs. Vegetarian at the grocery store, in my aisle, in a momentary showdown just before we raced each other to grab the last bunch of organic kale. Chances are we'd have completely misjudged each other: I'd have considered her presumptuous, and she'd have expected I knew nothing of what I was perusing. Both of us expecting the other was in the wrong place.

Ironically, we should both be there, among other people, and quite feasibly that is the only aisle we should be shopping in. After all, why do we ever need to shop in any other aisle, especially the ones that contain boxed, canned or bagged foods?

It occurred to me while shopping the other day just how colorful, and tempting and tantalizing, and misleading and disgusting the other 90% of the store was, as I walked through Any_Typical_Big_Chain_Grocer_Name_Here the other day to take advantage of their sales on organic apples and pears. I asked myself,"What on Earth happened that we are completely and utterly dependent upon processed foods? And why haven't we caught on as a whole society yet?"

Is convenience really that convenient?

I am taken back to my childhood and reading the Laura Ingalls-Wilder Little House On The Prairie series of books where her future husband, Almanzo Wilder, was describing the excitement of life on his family farm where treats included having maple syrup poured on snow to create an instant hard-candy. Even better, the mention of having a hot potato kept in his pocket that he would eat once it cooled. What about the talk of the fresh pies, and preserves, and winter stores kept to make it through the tough, long, cold winters of off-season farming?

Nowadays, if we want something we just go buy it and unwrap it.

I am all for human progress and technological advances, but what happened to our ability to be self-sufficient, sustaining, creative, independent, productive and capable of feeding ourselves without commercial dependency?

And more importantly, what happened to our knowledge of how to be the aforementioned individuals? Is that in itself another example of the breakdown of the basic fundamental family unit? Surely we are more responsible than that!

I consider myself of above-average intelligence. I would also describe myself as a "fairly good" cook who is "capable" in the kitchen. I thought that surely the transition to vegan, at a dietary level, would be simply a matter of swapping ingredients out. Trade offs. Substitutions. I was pretty well wrong.

I have had to relearn the basics, like a new language. Cooking temperatures and times, textures and blending, seasoning and spicing, it's all new. Results are not what I'd like, but I've certainly developed some fantastic products which I expect to patent, such as super concrete, mega bricks and something I call Revenge cookies which are only to be served to people you truly, truly dislike. For good reason.

One of my first creations was a "replica" (and by "replica" I mean something that looks, tastes and smells nothing like the original intended product) of Vegan Dad's home-made sausage. Let's just say I think I found a secret recipe for space-grade bolts that NASA should consider for future interplanetary station construction.

On the other hand, I have also concocted some excellent soups, a consumable pseudo-burger based on a brown-rice-and-chickpea burger recipe, a lasagna based on the Engine2 Diet veggie lasagna recipe, and a handful of other snacks, entrees and other meals.

Naturally, the better the ingredients, the better the meal, thus I find myself in the organic sections of the big chain stores more often, and anticipating the interaction with a local farm once CSA and co-op farming slots open up in the season changes. In the mean time, I use the best produce I can find.

The toughest part about finding the good produce is knowing what that truly is and means. Before that part, you need to know what the difference is. If you asked me a year ago to purchase ALL organics, I'd have laughed. 

"It all comes from the same place," I'd tell you, continuing my theory with," they're just re-branding to get you to pay more."

I am sure that in some cases, I was right. Then again, if the organic stuff is legit, you can taste, touch, see, smell and yes, even hear the difference. But to know the difference you have to be willing to try, and trust is tough to earn in a poor economy. Who wants to "try" a $9 bag of oranges, when you can pick up the same thing in a $5 bag. Surely I can't be the first person to have been so suspicious and I definitely won't be the last.

We simply don't know what we're talking about any more. If we did, we'd change our ways. Until then, though, we just follow the herd through the field of boxed items, past the check outs to our cars and back to our kitchens. Thankfully, I've broke ranks.

So far, I am just a few days shy of completing Month One of my lifestyle change.

I can see the difference in how my clothes fit. Others have commented on my weightloss, mainly in my face and neck (probably because I'm dressed almost all the time). I have only weighed myself once. I have never quantified results on this blog, as promised at the beginning simply because this is my journey, not anyone else's, and everyone will have their own results.

That said, I encourage everyone in my life to begin the same change. Although I've generally been amicably teased and mocked, I am patient. I understand every person must experience their own "pop", or their own "Aha!" moment. Sometimes it takes some coaching. Mine did. Had I not watched Vegucated or Hungry for Change I might still be where I was six months ago.

Now, instead of preaching I simply refer friends to documentaries I've seen. The most recent, and most likely the easiest to digest first run through (no pun intended) is Forks Over Knives. Unlike documentaries I've seen prior, it doesn't blatantly hammer anti-meat and anti-dairy visuals and instead eases you through it in the same way they recommend you transition: Add more of the good, and the bad will phase out naturally as you crave it less. The message is simple: Replace junk foods and carnivore-centric items with plant-based items. 

Chopsticks aside, if you can put down your knife and consume most of your meal with a fork it's probably ideal. Some exceptions apply.

But don't take my word for it, Fork yourself here. 

In the mean time, I'm headed back to the grocers for more organics carrots to juice and hopefully to grab one more bunch of kale before it's all gone. Perhaps if I see Mrs. Vegetarian, I'll get her opinion on the wheatgrass, but I'll be sure to put my old band back on my ring finger so she doesn't think I'm flirting.

With tine regards,
FatGuy