Trying not to die

Before I even put the first morsel of holiday food to my mouth, I enlisted in a class in January called “Fat Burner”.  Not the prettiest of names, but hoping for truth in advertising, I signed myself up.  Lighting my fat on fire would have been less painful.

They should have called this class "Whip my ass and beat me".  I knew it was going to hurt.  I knew it was going to be a struggle to finish a one-hour class.  I smartly placed myself within 6 feet of the instructor figuring that if I was going to need her to perform CPR, I wanted to be within quick compression distance.  Funny, how this kind of thing never even crosses your mind until you reach the depth of middle age.

It began innocently enough with a warm-up.  When the cardio began in earnest, things started getting ugly fast.  At the half way mark of the class, I was in trouble.  My legs were like a bowl of burning jelly, my heart was pounding and I felt like throwing up.  The bottom of my feet even hurt due to an unfortunate shoe choice. Happy New Year to me.

When I looked up to see if anyone else was having a near death experience, I discovered to my horror that there were about 3 others who appeared to be in even worse shape; beet red faces and looking as though their eyes were going to roll back into their heads.  Funny, that's never the look you see on the commercials in January with all those fit, smiling women wearing beautiful outfits.    

I could tell that the instructor was doing some quick math in her head and surmised that administering CPR to 4 ladies simultaneously was going to result in tragedy.  So she suddenly spoke in earnest about staying at level 1 (the easiest) vs. level 2 or 3.  

Getting no argument from me, I committed fully to staying at level 1, if for no other reason than to finish the hour upright.  I even did burpies, ever so slowly at level one.  Remember burpies?  Another unfortunate name.  What…fartercize was already taken? 

I somehow survived the hour of endless lunges, squats and whatever the hell I was doing on that step.  I didn't dare look at myself in the mirror, not only to avoid the horror of what I might look like right before I expired, but with my middle aged tri-focal lenses, anything less than full concentration on the whereabouts of my feet might have resulted in an unexpected trip to the hospital.

I imagined a life the next day that didn’t include walking and wondered whether wheelchair service might be available for some low, low price.

As the class was finishing, the instructor suggested that we all do some kind of cardio again before the next class.  We clearly needed a class to get ready for class.  Happily, I’m scheduled to scale a mountain on snowshoes before the week’s end.  Another item checked off the old “to do “ list.   Let’s just hope some fat gets burned before this is all over.  I want to look good at my funeral.

Christmas frenzy no more

I’m sure there are people…many people…many people with children, who are busily scurrying around like their pants are on fire, desperately preparing for their Norman Rockwell Christmas.  I have a news flash for you, Christmas perfection is a myth.  Completely unobtainable.  Like men understanding women and vice versa.  Won’t happen.  EVER.

I used to scurry about the malls myself.  I used to endure throngs of people in airports at holiday time.  No more.  I’m not sure when I made the shift.  It certainly wasn’t overnight.  It was more like a very slow dawning that I could make Christmas whatever I wanted it to be.  So I decided that I wanted it to be slow and peaceful. 

I don’t even set foot in a mall until I know what I intend to purchase.  I haven’t loitered in an airport (or paid ridiculous high season prices) pre-Christmas in years.  In fact, it took all of my stamina last year to darken the doorstep of an airport post Christmas.

For me, Christmas is about spending time with friends, but not stressing to see them all before the big day.  A time to enjoy some neighbourhood holiday light displays if the weather cooperates.  A chance to gaze peacefully at my beautiful tree while soft music plays in the background. Perhaps watch an old holiday movie on TV.

I don’t stress about holiday parties, how many gifts one is giving or receiving, or whether I’ve sent Christmas cards and I carry no mountain of debt forward into January to prove my love to anyone.

Wishing you all a merry little Christmas complete with joy and yes, even a little peace.

Food I don’t eat. Ever.

Last week, I proudly admitted to my food choices.  This week, I’ll give you my Never Ever, don’t even try and make me, couldn’t pay me a $1 million dollars to eat it even once list.

Zucchini

Many of my friends know of my hardships with zucchini, and still they snicker.  Yes, it's all fun and games until someone loses their stomach.  OK, so I likely wouldn’t be hospitalized, (and I have no desire to find out how much zucchini it would take to be front of line at emergency) but let’s just say that once ingested, zucchini wants to find a way out and the quicker the better. I’ve experienced a lost weekend, not from Tequila, but from the lowly, inexpensive and yet lethal zucchini.  This vegetable should come with a warning label. I’m thinking skull and crossbones.  In my case, grocers should provide a HAZMAT suit with purchase.

Peas

I’m talking here about the basic garden-variety pea; canned or otherwise.  Not necessarily the much lauded snow pea, which has been known to get through.  The reason I don’t eat peas anymore is that when I was 18, I spent 6 weeks in England that summer.  Every single day for 6 weeks on end, with the exception of heaven sent Fish & Chip night, I was served peas.  Seriously.  I’ve had my fill.  I’ve had enough for all of us, so I’ll be passing from now on to make sure there’s enough to go around.  You’re welcome.

Tofu

Yup, it’s the healthiest thing you can put in your mouth…it will change your life, help you lose 20 pounds, make you grow tits, somehow increase your net worth…it’s the Second Coming of Health Food.  Don’t care, not eating it.  When a food has no taste, the texture of mush and needs every kind of flavoring on the planet to taste like ANYTHING at all, I’ll pass.  And for those of you who think it tastes like meat…you’ve obviously never eaten meat.  Cows just taste better.  End of story.

Sauerkraut

Need I say more?  If you’ve ever had sauerkraut cooked in your home, you’ll likely never forget the smell.  Nor will you be able to get it out of your soft furnishings.  Kinda like vomit, only worse.  The wafting ability of the cooked cabbage should be studied by scientists.  I have a sick feeling that sauerkraut may be either the cure to cancer or world peace.  It would just figure.

Liver

Smells bad.  Tastes worse.  Before I tried it myself, my best friend at the time described the taste “like eating dirt.”  Well, I can honestly say, I’ve tasted better dirt.  But liver caused me to start a new subset of items I don’t eat, which falls under the general heading of “functions”.  The function of the liver is to cleanse your entire system.  When you eat liver, you’re eating the crap that the liver deemed unworthy.  Think about that while sautéing your onions.  And you’re worried about a little mercury in your fish?  Mercury tastes better.  I’ll bet my own flesh tastes better.

What are you NOT eating…not for health reasons, but because you just plain don’t like it?

Eat! Eat!

Have you noticed that some time over the past few years, it’s become fashionable to tell people what you DON’T eat?  I’m guessing that the national obesity crisis is responsible for this, but no longer is there any talk around the dinner table about the enjoyment of food, let alone the consumption of it.  We speak only of what we have purged from our diets.  Personally, I think it’s a little sick…all this denial.
So, I’ll be brave and go first and proudly tell you what I enjoy eating, in the hope that we can get back on track, make like the French, and actually enjoy our food once more. We live in one of the most food rich societies in the world.  For God’s sake, let’s eat! And let’s stop feeling virtuous in denying ourselves the foods that we love.  It’s the last taboo…admitting what we eat, even if those choices are less than stellar.  So here’s my not so secret list.

Chips with dip:
Happily, this potent and decadent combination is only enjoyed at holiday time in my house, but this weekend I consumed rippled potato chips with DIP.  Yes, that’s right…full fat, creamy delicious French onion chip dip; a staple in the happy homemaker’s kitchen in the 60’s.  Actually, I’m pretty sure that in the 60’s, serving chips with dip was considered high class entertaining!  Good enough for company!

In my childhood, chips and dip were a somewhat sacred treat, but they did make an appearance more than once a year.  Nowadays, this high fat, but super delicious snack is a sign that Christmas is indeed coming.  Please spare me the low fat dip….go all the way or no way at all.

Bugles:
Whatever nicotine-like substance lies within them, they are highly addictive, which is great cause for concern.  Because once that bag is opened, you really can’t stop. Unlike cigarettes, which can and must be stopped after one.

Meat:
As my Mother used to say, “it takes all kinds” and that’s what I eat and I make no apologies for it. Grilled, BBQ’d, roasted…you name it, I eat it and love every protein filled moment. This year, I’ve marinated meat, skewered it and slow cooked it, all in the name of tremendous satisfaction.  No vegetable and the word “satisfaction” have ever gotten together in a convincing sentence.

Dessert:
Yes, we have childhood bribery to thank for this (no dessert until you eat a vegetable), but Ken and I enjoy dessert daily.  I’m trying not to enjoy dessert with every single meal (breakfast dessert?  Ca’mon!) and I’m also trying to redefine what dessert consists of.  My middle aged mind has convinced me that yogurt with fruit qualifies as dessert.  You wouldn’t have been able to fob that off on me as a child, but let’s just say I’ve matured.

Foods you couldn’t get me to eat as a child but must have now….

Mushrooms:
Can’t be without them or I start to break out in a nervous tick.  Happily, a good cancer protection program, especially when combined with greens (as in Caesar salad with mushrooms…YUM).
I don’t go in for the exotic stuff (let’s just say that they don’t call it shitake for no reason). No, the common button mushroom serves my Vitamin B needs nicely, but I am partial to the giant Portobello.  Although, for those of you who think that the Portobello mushroom makes a good substitute for beef, I have news for you.  Not really.  But hey, tell yourself whatever you need to in order to get in 10 servings of vegetables daily.

Brussels Sprouts:
A very recent addition to my diet, as in last month!  I was watching a PBS cooking show on the Seattle station when it was revealed that 98% of the population doesn’t like Brussels Sprouts. I was in good company.  But that’s because you never had them like THIS.  His very outstanding recipe (and trust me your Mother never got the memo on this one) involved cutting up the sprouts and sautéing them with the delicious goodness of onions, garlic, apples and bacon and then dousing the whole business with maple syrup.  Yep, that’s a marked improvement over the usual Brussels Sprout crap…er…. recipe (doesn’t everything taste better with bacon and maple syrup?) Here’s the recipe and slap me silly if you’re not a convert.  It’s the dessert of vegetables now. Sauteed brussels sprouts with apples and bacon.

Asparagus:
Not sure what the problem was here in childhood…lack of a good source?  Looked too much like a tree?  Love it now…with lemon, with just about any kind of sauce, cut up in a stir-fry.  Oh and it’s actually good for me.  Who knew?

Foods I eat but used to be forbidden...  

Ice Cream/Gelato:
This blessing I owe to my highly disciplined ingestion of probiotics over the past two years.  My theory is that I’m now ingesting the required enzyme to digest milk products, so ice cream is back!  Mostly consumed over the warm summer months, this year I sucked back some kind of Hagen Daz on a stick, smothered with chocolate and nuts.  Ummmm.
 
Over the past two summers, Ken and I have been running an informal competition for best gelato in the Lower Mainland.  Sampling required.  Top 2 winners:  the place on the beach in White Rock directly across from the pier and in Vancouver, the place at the bottom of the Fairmont Pacific Rim hotel.  I’m pleased to report that testing continues.

Cappuccino:
Thinking that despite my joy in being able to mostly ingest dairy products without difficulty, I pushed the envelope a little further still and tried some kind of cappuccino in my Tassimo coffee maker.  Still not sure what the milk product was…powdered milk?  But it was tasty delicious, nonetheless.  Mind you, I’m still cappucinoing in moderation, as should we all.

Foods that I still dream about...

Cottage Cheese
In the 70’s, cottage cheese was considered a diet food and no one wanted to eat it.  Except me.  I missed this one even more than ice cream and really want to get it back on the list.  Best done in limited quantities, but fingers crossed.

Name a food that you actually eat AND enjoy.  I promise not to tell anyone, especially your doctor.  Be loud and proud and tell us, once and for all, what’s really going on in your dining room.

Time on my Hands

With my recent job change came perhaps the most important reason for the change —  quality of life. 

Because of my new drastically shortened commute, I’ve been given the gift of time.  Not only do I get to sleep longer each and every night, but I now have two extra hours a day to frolic. 120 beautiful daily moments…10 hours a week.  An extra 40 hours a month….adding up to a grand total of almost 8 extra days a year to do with what I please.  It’s like I’ve entered some kind of black hole where time has expanded.  I never believed them in physics class, but here it is.

So what have I been doing with my newfound time?  Well, my house has never been tidier.  My bed gets made every morning (for the first time in my life!  Hear that?  That’s my Mother cheering from beyond the grave.)  My blog has been reactivated.  Frankly, I’ve been so giddy about it all; I haven’t really begun to explore the vast possibilities.  I’m hoping yoga will become a regular feature of my life, or perhaps even a few more trips to the gym.  Perhaps there will be more home cooked meals in my future. Hell, I may even take up arts and crafts, yodeling or finally learn to juggle.  My skill set should expand exponentially. Or I may just take a nap.

Whatever I choose to do with this gift of time I know this:  time is precious and we should value every minute of it.  This gift may not last as long as I’d like, so I intend to value every second of my almost 8 extra days that have been added to my wonderful life.

What would YOU do if you only had more time??

Another year ... another erection

It’s that time of year.  Ken and I have been thinking about it for weeks and now the weekend is finally upon us.  A romantic weekend away, you wonder?  Nope.  Time for us to celebrate the season by seeing if we can come to blows once more over the annual erection of our Christmas tree.

Having just put the house back together after the latest renovation…it’s time for us to make our biggest mess of the year.  Boxes upon boxes will be dragged up from the garage (cue the whining to start HERE.)  Our evil cat will likely use this opportunity to escape through the open front door to wander the neighbourhood freely, while giving us the paw and muttering “suckers” under his tuna breath.  He will be recaptured (more whining while one of us searches for him in the cold).  His punishment will be to watch us erect the tree for the next eight hours!

Never before in my life has it ever taken so long to put up a tree.  Even when I was five and was underfoot constantly.  Even when I carefully hand-crafted each link of my construction paper chain and relished in the throwing of plastic tinsel EVERYWHERE!

Nope, it’s only since being with Mr. Interior Decorator that such magnitude of time has been spent. Last year, and hopefully this year, we’ll spread this effort out over several days.  Yes, that’s right….several days for one tree!

But by the time we’re done, it will be somewhat spectacular and we’ll invite guest after guest over to bask in its magnificence (hence needing to start early).  Our BC Hydro Smart Meter will hum like the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.  The clean up will probably last for days as I find odd bits of Christmas decorations littered endlessly around the house, if the cat hasn’t found them first and choked to death.

But at the end of it all will be peace and beauty, which to me is the joy of Christmas and the only reason that we do it at all.

Take your best stab at it

Having successfully reached the ripe old age of 50, the time has come for another exciting test.  As if smashing my boobs wasn’t enough fun, now I get to participate in the next right of passage, the Fecal Occult Blood test.

A precursor to the dreaded colonoscopy, the FOB test checks for blood in feces unseen by the naked eye.  Having now had two neighbors diagnosed with colon cancer, I thought it best to have a lookie at my poop to see what lurks within.

I thought I was a reasonably intelligent woman who was thankful that English was my first language, until the nurse practioner started explaining how to collect “the samples” as polite people often refer to this. Place the paper in the toilet bowl. Check. Go poo poos onto the paper. Check. Take the little stick out of the very small test tube thingy and stab the poo.  Put it back in the teeny tiny test tube thing.  You lost me. 

I don’t want to brag or anything, but the average size of my feces greatly exceeds the size of the test tube thingy. Any decent Sesame Street math whiz could clearly see that one of these things is bigger and NOT like the other.

The look of confusion on my face was apparent.  She explained again, this time more s-l-o-w-l-y.  I could only conclude that the stick thing was going to take more of a “core” sample, otherwise this was going to get ugly!

I decided it best to give the printed instructions a thorough going over.  The instructions come with cute, IKEA style diagrams.  For some reason the diagram next to the instruction “deposit stool sample on top of collection paper” shows a relaxed naked person on the toilet wearing nothing but red (I’m assuming fuzzy) slippers.  Hmm.  Note to self.  Clothing optional.  Maybe this IS going to get ugly after all.

It appears from the instructions that I am to pull the probe across the sample until there is a goodly amount on the grooved portion of the probe.  I’m thinking that this is going to be an interesting game of bobbing for apples and wonder if when collecting my sample, it might be best to take paper out of the toilet and onto a more solid surface.  Starting to have performance anxiety, I consult the internet for further details.

The internet seems to confirm that the paper is best left in the toilet. We’ll see.  The last thing I want to do is fail this test and have to get back into that lengthy line-up at the lab. Not to mention face the nurse practioner yet again and have her think I was a complete moron.

What they didn’t tell me at either the doctor’s office or at the lab is this: FOB tests are prone to false positives.  Eating certain fruits and vegetables prior to your test or taking things like aspirin and ibuprofen can skew the results, meaning that a further colonoscopy will be performed in order to double check.  The only reason I’ve agreed to do this test is to avoid the colonoscopy (although I hear the drugs are great!).

Having been taking vast amounts of ibuprofen lately for a recent back problem, I decide to wait for a few days.  I’m hoping that by then, I’ll be ready to don fuzzy slippers and take a stab at it. Literally.