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Posts Tagged ‘health’
Well, sort of.
Mark Sisson of Mark’s Daily Apple (and author of The Primal Blueprint) is hosting a 30-day “Primal Challenge” on his blog beginning today, and I – for reasons I’m not really sure of quite yet – have decided to join. Beloved, who has jumped on board with our new way of eating with an enthusiasm that makes The Young One stick his fingers in his ears and go “lalalalalalalaaaaaa” every time we step into the kitchen, is even wondering why I’m doing this.
Well, I have some reasons, and my extremely persistent insomnia is one of them. Mark has written several good articles about the importance of good, regular sleep and has many sound suggestions on how to achieve it. I’m also worried about my stress levels, which are simply off the chart these days, and he has many sound suggestions on how to lessen, or at least mitigate, that as well. And while I may have mistakenly given the impression that I don’t believe exercise is beneficial, that’s untrue. Exercise isn’t necessary for weight-loss – especially the kind of exercise we’re told by “the experts” we should do (don’t even get me started on the whole “sustained cardio” BS) – but it is necessary for good health, and I need to do more of it. But I also need to do it in a manner that won’t wear me out/discourage me, and this challenge offers that, with plenty of support.
Fortunately, I won’t have to change my eating habits too terribly much, although I am giving up caffeine, alcohol, and artificial sweeteners for the duration of the challenge (yeah, my family and co-workers are going to avoid me like the plague for a month). But, you know, none of those things are of any particular benefit, except maybe the occasional glass of red wine and these days the “occasional glass of red wine” often turns into “2 or 3 glasses of red wine nightly” so I’m just going to avoid it all together for the next 30 days.
The one thing, though, that I’m going to fudge on in all of this is dairy. I don’t drink a lot of milk, but I don’t want to give up the one or two glasses of milk I drink each week – since it’s from grass-fed cows, non-homogenized and low-temp pasteurized it’s full of good fats, especially conjugated linoleic acid (CLA). The same goes for cheese – I don’t overindulge, and I see no reason to give up the occasional sprinkle or slice of grass-fed, raw milk cheeses I do eat.
And, frankly, you’ll take my butter when you pry it from my cold, greasy hand. ‘Cause we eat a lot of butter. I mean, a LOT of butter.
Anyhoo, the challenge starts today and ends October 6 – I’ll be required to blog about my efforts from time to time in order to participate, so I thought I’d just give y’all a heads-up. So hang around and see what the crazy lady is up to this month – it should be amusing, at least.
P.S. There will still be recipes – none of this means I’m going to start eating roadkill or anything. The recipes just won’t have grains or sweeteners, with the very occasional exception of small amounts of honey, and there won’t be a whole lotta cheese and dairy going on. Trust me – I can make this work, and you’ll barely notice the difference.
As you may or may not know (or care, and I could hardly blame you), I had (shell)fish for dinner the night before last – salmon and scallops with a lovely green chile sauce, accompanied by some yellow summer squash, zucchini and onions sauteed in butter. It was wonderful, and I couldn’t finish what was on my plate. Nor did I wander around the house right before bedtime, grousing about how hungry I was – because, frankly, I wasn’t hungry.
Yesterday for lunch, I had fish, too, and chicken: Beloved and I shared some sushi, chicken teriyaki and seaweed salad. By mid-afternoon, we were both hungry; by the time we got home from work, we were ravenous. What did our seafood dinner have that kept us from being hungry, but our lunch did not?
In a word: Fat.
A lot of people are afraid of dietary fat – heaven knows I was for a very long time. We’ve been conditioned, over the last 30 to 40 years, to be so…and it’s all been so wrong. I won’t go into they whys and wherefores of how the American public was bilked into following a low-fat, high carbohydrate diet here (I suggest you read Good Calories, Bad Calories by Gary Taubes for an in-depth explanation of that), but bilked we have been. And while we’ve been made paranoid about dietary fat in general, we’ve been made absolutely terrified of saturated fat in particular.
Silly us.
My mother died from heart disease at the age of 51. I believe two factors came into play there – Mom smoked like a chimney and she ate a low-fat diet for the last 25 or so years of her life, which means she consumed a lot of grains, starches and refined sugar – particularly high fructose corn syrup (Mom looooooved her Coca Cola). Well, she was a yo-yo dieter, too – Mom’s entire adulthood was a roller coaster of losing a lot of weight, only to regain it (and more) afterwards – and there’s ample evidence that that kind of behavior is every bit as unhealthy, if not more so, than simply being overweight. And unhealthy it was – she developed an aeortal aneurysm at 46 and had a fatal heart attack two months after her 51st birthday.
I’m the eldest of Mom’s four kids (by quite a bit; the next oldest is 5 1/2 years younger), so I’ve gotten to deal with facing the age she became ill before my sibs, and it has been a sobering experience, I have to tell you. Determined not to drop dead as a relatively young woman, I quit smoking for the very last time the day after my 45th birthday – I’ll have been completely smoke-free for thee years this December. This is the year I’ve gotten a handle on my diet, and thanks to the enthusiastic cooperation of Beloved and The Young One (who has not complained once about the fact that the candy bowl no longer holds a never-ending supply of chocolate or that Mt. Dew, frozen pizza and boxed mac ‘n’ cheese have become a thing of the past), it has been easier than I ever could have hoped for.
If you had to peg what kind of a “diet” we’re on (although, as Beloved frequently points out, it’s not a diet, it’s a lifestyle), it’s somewhere between a paleo and a traditional foods diet. It’s not a traditional foods diet because we’re not eating starches or grains at all (well, except for the ear of corn we had when the Ohio sweet corn came in this month), and it’s not a paleo diet because we’re still eating (full-fat) dairy – and it’s working really, really well for us. Because we are losing weight, experiencing more energy, and are never hungry – which is nothing short of amazing, considering how much we both, but Beloved in particular, used to snack.
While we’ve cut starches, grains, refined sugars, soy and vegetable oils from our diet, the biggest change we’ve made is to increase the amount of fat we eat, particularly saturated fat. Coconut and palm kernel oils, which are solid at room temperature (and an excellent, healthy source of medium chain fatty acids) have replaced shortening; lard and tallow have replaced vegetable oils for cooking; nut and avocado oils adorn our salads in the way of homemade salad dressings; and, of course, butter and olive oil remain favorites for sauteing and flavoring many of the foods we eat. We are reveling in our diet of pastured dairy, chicken and eggs, grass-fed beef, wild-caught fish and ethically-raised pork – all full of wonderful fat. Add in the seasonal, locally grown fruits and vegetables to the mix, and we are pretty happy campers.
Have I mentioned we’re losing weight? Or that we have not changed our basic lifestyle at all? We have not taken up jogging, or Pilates, or yoga, or, indeed, any exercise program at all. We have not given up alcohol (although we’ve realized we are drinking less than we used to – we just don’t feel like it any more). We haven’t given up coffee, and Beloved still drinks diet Coke (although a lot less than he used to). We still work long hours. And in 3 months he’s lost 25 pounds, and I’ve lost 17. I have a friend who is on a low-fat diet and is jogging miles and miles several times a week and is completely frustrated with her inability to lose any weight at all.
Are we killing ourselves by consuming all of this “artery-clogging” fat? I’m sure I will get comments that say, “Yes!” but I’m afraid I must disagree – there are more and more studies coming out all the time that find dietary fat is not only not bad for you, but actually good for you and implicates sugar, grains, starches (especially of the refined variety) and vegetable oils as the culprits behind what many experts are calling an “epidemic” of obesity and diabetes. Now, think about that: since the 70s, when the government took a stand and started recommending diets low in fat and high in carbohydrates (thank you, George McGovern), obesity, diabetes and heart disease have reached epidemic proportions. Exactly the opposite of what that kind of diet is supposed to do.
Makes you kinda stop and think, doesn’t it? At least, it’s made me stop and think – mostly about the lovely steak and salad with lots of fat-laden dressing I’m going to have for dinner.
Posted in participation of Food Renegade’s Fight Back Friday
Last week, Twenty Four at Heart announced that she has been diagnosed as insulin resistant and been put on a low carb diet. She asked if any of her readers had any experience with insulin resistance and/or low carb diets. I had a helluva week last week, and didn’t get to comment on her post, which I regret.
Coincidentally – or not – Jason at Well Done Chef! was very recently diagnosed as diabetic and immediately put on insulin (Jason is a professional chef who lives and works in Canada and one of my favorite food bloggers).
And, oddly enough, these two events are pretty damn timely for me.
I was diagnosed as insulin resistant about 8 years ago. Like Twenty Four, my eating habits are not at all bad, despite what you might think based on some of the recipes I post here. Unlike Twenty Four, I am a bit more than 20 pounds overweight – quite a bit more. Also, unlike Twenty Four, I’ve never had a doctor give me any advice on how to deal with the problem other than “lose some weight” and “watch what you eat.” Jason, on the other hand, has been given the whole “eat less fat and more ‘complex carbohydrates’” advice that is given to so many diabetics these days. Jason has chosen to go the low carb route, and I applaud him for it because I believe Twenty Four’s doctor is spot on the money.
Once I was diagnosed as insulin resistant, I immediately began to do a great deal of research on the subject and literally every bit of information I found on the matter said that eating a diet low in carbohydrates with adequate amounts of protein (and “adequate” is usually dictated by your gender, weight, and lean muscle mass) and plenty of good, naturally occurring fats.
I jumped on the low carb bandwagon enthusiastically and once the novelty of eating all the eggs, meat, cheese and butter I could stand waned, I hit a wall that a great many people who love to eat (and drink and, yes, cook) eventually face when eating low carb: boring menus. Especially since I’m not the type of person to be happy with a fake, low carb (or low fat) version of something. If I’m going to eat a pancake, I want a REAL damn pancake with real maple syrup, not some pale imitation made of ricotta cheese and protein powder covered in ersatz “maple flavored” goo. Compound that with the fact that I have the willpower of a gnat (to say nothing of the metabolism of a comatose slug)…well, lets just say that while I agree with the fact that for me and a great many of the other people who suffer from metabolic syndrome a controlled carbohydrate way of eating is best, I haven’t been very successful following the whole thing.
Talkin’ the talk, but not walkin’ the walk. My bad. My BAD. Especially since when I do walk the walk every so often, I feel SO MUCH BETTER.
Recently, however, I’ve decided that it’s time to jump back on the bandwagon. I don’t feel well much of the time, and since it’s been over a year since I’ve had my AC1 levels checked (I can’t even get a doctor here in Ohio to check my insulin levels, but that’s a bitch story for another day) I wonder if I haven’t edged into Type II Diabetes territory. It certainly would make a great deal of sense (especially since my fasting blood sugar was 132 this morning).
I’ve announced my decision to “diet” (a low fat, high carbohydrate diet, by the by) on this blog before and did quite well for a week or two. Then I came down with a really weird rash and was prescribed Prednisone for 10 days. Since steroids are notorious for increasing the appetite (along with several other just lovely side effects) I was quite willing to blame the Prednisone for my inability to stick to it. And yes, Prednisone probably played a part in the absolutely constant, incessant hunger I suffered but I doubt very seriously it was the only factor. The fact of the matter is, carbohydrates in large quantities are bad for me, and eating them do nothing but raise my blood sugar levels (making me hungrier) which in turns raises my insulin levels (making me fatter).
A bit of a no-win situation.
Anyhoo. Back on the bandwagon. Which, as I mentioned before, presents problems in the way of what I wish to eat. The thought of spending the rest of my days eating nothing but fried eggs and grilled meats and steamed vegetables with the occasional piece of fruit thrown in is distinctly depressing – Twenty Four left a comment on my blog last week where she said, “I can never eat another carb again in my life…” I know how she feels, but I also know that’s not true.
I also have what is more or less a food blog, that I definitely don’t want to turn into a diet blog.
So, for the time being, the vast majority of my recipes are going to be naturally low carb, and as creative as I can make them. By naturally low carb, I mean by keeping my use of artificial sweeteners and “weird” ingredients to the very barest minimum. When I do use a strictly “low carb” ingredient, I’ll include the “regular” ingredients to use as well. And from time to time I’ll make desserts or breads or starches and I’ll post the recipes for those, too. I just won’t be posting recipes for rolls, spoon bread and waffles all in one week any longer.
Tonight I’m making scallops seared in a chili-ginger oil with julienne carrots and red bell peppers over a bed of fresh spinach (the carb eaters in the house will get steamed rice with this). If it’s any good – and I have high hopes for it – you’ll get the recipe in a day or two.
And yes, before you all start chiding me, I’m going to the doctor and I will insist on being tested – we’ll see if she does. The last time I asked, she refused.
200 posts. Wow. Is there a protocol for your 200th post? (I’ll spare you 200 facts about me, since I can’t count and you’d end up with 327.)
Anyhoo, that’s not what I wanted to talk about. What I wanted to talk about is the fact that, as of today, I have not had a cigarette in a year.
Yay, me.
I have to be honest – I wanted to quit. I was ready to quit. I didn’t enjoy it any longer, and I was tired of the expense and the smell and the mess. I was tired of feeling controlled by it. I was tired of being a social pariah of sorts.
I was tired of being a smoker.
I was also tired of being afraid. You see, my mother was a life-long smoker and it was a contributing cause to her death at 51. Once I hit my 40s, I began to get more and more nervous about my fate as a smoker. Once 45 was staring me in the face, I guess I finally realized that I could no longer say “I’ll quit later, when I’m older” because “later” and “older” were here. Mom was never able to quit, even after her surgery and I was damned if I was going to let that nasty, dangerous habit rule me for the rest of my life – it already had for long enough.
So, when we got up on the morning of December 23 last year and boarded our plane for Hawaii, I just stopped. We were in airplanes or airports for 16 hours and I figured if I could go that long without a cigarette, I could go forever. It was surprisingly easy, and by the time we got home 12 days later I realized that yes, I was done.
I won’t lie – there are times when I still crave one, but I just wait for a few seconds and the desire passes (it’s usually when I have a glass of wine beside me and Beloved lights up). Most of the time, though, they just smell awful and having Beloved still smoking is a major nuisance, because when he’s not smoking around me I don’t think about it at all. I try not to nag him, though, because when it’s time for him to quit, he will, and there isn’t anything I can do to change that time table.
I also won’t lie and tell you I haven’t gained any weight, because I have. Quite a bit, as a matter of fact, but I’ll take that as an acceptable compromise, because I know for a fact I can lose it – I have before.
Perhaps that will be my “I did this for my health” anniversary post for next year.
We decided to go driving Saturday to look at the changing foilage again. Bored with Amish country, we headed southeast and drove to Beaver Creek State Park, near the Ohio/Pennsylvania/West Virginia border. It was beautiful, and I’m sure there was an added bonus for Beloved: no place to shop. We’d been gone maybe four hours when we headed home; The Young One was alone, unsupervised, and that was about all the excitement my poor old bod could handle.
On our way back, we were listening to the radio, not saying much, when Lou Reed’s “Walk on the Wild Side” came on. I listened to the lyrics for the first time in maybe 20 years. By the time the first chorus of “Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo” started, I looked up, and saw Beloved had a slightly bemused expression on his face – I was pretty sure I had the same look, myself.
“How did that song ever get airplay in the 70s?” he asked softly.
“I dunno, ” I replied. “It’s just so…wrong. On so many levels.”
“Yeah it is,” he agreed.
The longer I listened to the song, the more it occurred to me how much I’ve changed since my early 20s. I’ve been a fan of rock and roll since, well, forever, and I was just as aware of the meaning of the lyrics at 22 as I am at 45. While I never cared for the racist undertones of the song, the idea of someone singing about transvestites performing oral sex for money never struck much of a nerve with me.
Until now.
I mean, the subject itself doesn’t necessarily offend me – I’m not a prude by any stretch of the imagination – but someone singing about it while “colored girls” doop-de-dooed in the background? It just seemed…tacky, to say the least.
It’s not just music, either. Maybe it’s because I’m at the tail-end of the Baby Boomer generation, but the whole aging process just keeps smacking me in the face. Sally Fields is doing commercials for osteoporosis medication – is it just me, or does anyone else find the thought of Gidget with a hip fracture amusing? Dennis Hopper is shilling financial planning services. The other night while we were watching Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, when I wasn’t marveling at the complete crappiness of the film, all I could do was wonder where the hell Harrison Ford’s neck had disappeared to. I saw a recent photograph of Christopher Walken in New Yorker Magazine and wondered when, in the last 15 years, he’d turned into a prune. But the worst of it is that Kevin Costner – Kevin Costner!!! – has been on the cover of AARP Magazine.
I can accept that I am aging – I have to; the evidence is staring at me from the bathroom mirror every day. The fact that I am in the throes of perimenopause and am old enough to be a grandmother can be dealt with. I am perfectly okay with the understanding that my consumption of oat bran and garlic have become intimately intertwined with my serum cholesterol levels. I am perfectly at ease with the concept of drinking red wine for the taste and health benefits rather than being able to brag that I have no idea what happened the night before.
But when Michael Jackson celebrates his 50th birthday and Jamie Lee Curtis makes a living eating probiotic yogurt on national television, something is seriously wrong with the universe.
Hunter S. Thompson committed suicide. Sid Barrett died of complications of diabetes. George Carlin suffered a fatal heart attack. Paul Newman succumbed to cancer. This isn’t like Jimmy Hendrix, Janis Joplin or John Belushi living hard and dying young, or even John Lennon, whose life was so rudely interrupted – these people were more or less old when they passed away. Relatively speaking, they weren’t that much older than me when they died.
They are the icons of my youth. And as much as I may hate to admit it, my youth is a thing of the past.
Don’t get me wrong – if given the opportunity to go back 20 years, even knowing what I know now, I wouldn’t do it. I like being 45; it has all sorts of advantages over being 25. It’s just that…I don’t know, the whole mortality thing is kind of frightening. I’m not ready for bingo and barbituates.
Hopefully, I won’t be for a long time.