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


 

That Voice

That Voice. You know the one. Not the television show featuring musically inclined performers who sing (really well) live, contrary to the panel judging them; no, that's The Voice. I'm referring to That Voice... The one in your head. The one that learned to speak English, or whatever your native tongue is, the same time you did and has been talking crap to you ever since.

Like Jiminy Cricket's dysfunctional, estranged step-uncle with the family-incited restraining order placed on him that isn't allowed at family functions that involved alcohol for fear of results. The evil, negative natty, overbearing, consolation prize announcing naysayer that always talks you out of being Great. That Voice.

S/he is always there, hovering over your shoulder. Watching. Criticizing. Mocking you and uttering words of sympathetic defeat like an insatiably unsatisfiable disapproving mother-in-law who, no matter what, "only wants the best" for you.

"It's ok to give up. You can always come back and try tomorrow. You're really not a failure, you're just tired cause you had a long day. You should pack it in for now. Or maybe change sports. You were always good at Checkers."

If there's such thing as Murphy's Law, then That Voice is in Murphy's immediate family of pessimistic, passive-aggressive life changers.

I've started to think that I've gone crazy, now that I'm talking back to That Voice. So far, I've managed not to think aloud. Or at least, I don't think I have.

It makes me wonder when That Voice ever kicked in during human progress. How many times did the inventor of the Wheel give up?

"It's really not looking very round. Maybe it's just not meant to be. This is probably a futile invention anyhow. Who the heck is going to use this thing? You know how weird people get about new things."

And if ever there was a calorie to be consumed unnecessarily, That Voice was always the poorly timed voice of reason (and bad judgement) that picks the perfect time to point out the fresh, out-of-the-oven pastries in the far end of the market that you don't need but, "gosh I bet they'd go really good with a hot cup of coffee when you get home from this incredibly torturous day of work."

"Go ahead. You deserve it. You can always work twice as hard at the gym tomorrow!"

Sometimes, I think That Voice is the channeled medium of the world's greatest politician.

The toughest part about this Life change has been shutting That Voice up, or at least putting them on Mute and getting through some of the hardest workouts and dietary changes I've endured. It's an inner battle, indeed. Now on the flip side, That Voice has its moments of glory too.

"Don't forget, you were supposed to pay the electric bill today. Oh, and you're out of bread."

So, you can't silence That Voice, or sever the vocal chords, yet you can't succumb to the resilience of the postulated, pessimistic provoking, so what's a person to do? Barter? Banter? Bribe? Or just bicker?

My new theory is to handle That Voice with a skillful strategy of two rules:

First, employ Irish negotiation tactics. Answer or respond to every statement or question with a question. You can even fake the accent for good measure.

"It's ok to give up. You already ran two of the five cycles. At least you showed up at the gym. You're checked in on Facebook. You can always come back and try tomorrow. You don't want to push yourself too far and get injured right?", That Voice asks.

"Why will tomorrow be different?" I ask back.

Stumped. That time, at least. Not every time. Sometimes That Voice is quick-witted and convincing.

The second, and possibly more important rule: Always wear a bluetooth or other headset. That way, if you do start to talk back to That Voice, no one will truly think you're crazy, just geeky.

And if all of the above fails, I'm thinking brute force and raw ignorance: Press on. Eventually, That Voice has to get tired of talking to someone stubborn. Ok, maybe not. You're right. It was worth the try.

Vocally yours,
Fat Guy