I’ve been back from my trip to Scotland now for a week.
It’s taken me that long to recover from the onslaught of cooked foods I subjected my body to while away!
Prior to my trip (which was thoroughly pleasant I should add … and thanks for asking), I had made pretty useful progress with my eating habits. Although not 100% raw as yet, I consider myself to be in the transition phase.
I go from eating totally raw for several days at a stretch, to the odd fall from grace. Nothing serious I might add. The odd omelette, punnet of prawns (shrimp) or can of salmon. Mindless consumption, more out of habit or because my girlfriend still has not entirely bought into the whole idea of raw and I’m trying not to make her feel too uncomfortable.
I’m hoping that the soft touch over time will be more effective in the long run. What I know for sure is that my passion is often misconstrued for evangelism. This is unfortunate as it is the last thing I would want to be.
Anyway, back to our road trip.
It’s been a tradition of mine to eat a Whopper at Burger King every time I drive over 100 miles or so.
Why?
Because for at least half my life I couldn’t buy McDonald’s or BK. So now I have this really screwed up idea that eating there is a “treat”. Not because it’s good food (it’s not!) … and not because I enjoy my meals there (I don’t!).
In fact, the only reason I can think of for this madness and total incongruence with my whole being, is that I can do it.
No other reason! It’s me being rebellious. In some wierd way, the marketing lads have done such a good job that I associate a Whopper with something I need.
And each time I succumb, I ask myself what possible reason could it be. I mean, I could understand it if I absolutely loved it. But I don’t. In fact, it makes me mildly nauseous … and I always regret it.
Until the next time!
Well, that was the story of my entire holiday. I knew the friends we stay with would love us to death with beautifully prepared cooked food (usually a roast washed down with liberal amounts of merlot).
And I knew that once I reached my mum’s house (where we spent the lion’s share of our holiday), we would go out to eat because she hates to cook. My mum is arguably the best cook I know. She can make just about anything taste great.
But she’s at a point in her life where she cooks us one meal to show good faith, then announces that it’s the last we’re getting and we will all have to go out.
So how do I feel about all this?
Well, like any family or social scenario involving great friends, it’s tough. Good friends and family show their love with food. To reject it is to disrespect them … and that’s the last thing I would ever want to do.
I am also known as a prodigious eater!
So, if for any reason I don’t polish off my plate and then consume seconds and thirds … well then, something is quite clearly wrong.
To be honest, I hate all the fuss about food. I hate being under the spotlight. I hate having to explain why at home I eat differently, or why I only want one serving.
So I don’t!
I write off the two weeks, push a magical switch in my head … and vow to indulge without a hint of restraint.
Usually, this is quite pleasurable. Decades of over-eating the wrong foods have led me to a point of relative immunity. The addiction kicks in and I eat until I am stuffed.
And then I eat even more until there is nothing left and everyone can enjoy the performance of the human Hoover.
But here’s what I noticed this time:
I had made not only a psychological shift, but a physiological one too. For me at this point in my slow transition, I actually have no desire for cooked, processed or convenience foods whatsover.
The emotional need is gone!
Strangely enough, so is any physical attraction too. In fact, my body has cleansed itself to a point where it feels positively desecrated by any cooked or artificial foods.
Which leaves me feeling most unnerved.
I actually have become so opposed to putting cooked animal products and otherwise harmful cuisine into my mouth that I have to fight the emotions that arise as a result of just being offered a meal.
And this makes me feel awful. Because I know that my partner, my friends and my family can’t understand (because their bodies are different to mine now) … and because I don’t want to appear either neurotic or ungrateful!
So I’m in a huge quandary!
It took me about 8 days this time before my immune system was so compromised that I got sick. Yes, I actually got a cold!
I never get sick. Okay, occasionally … but I put that down to overtraining or lack of sleep or whatever.
But this time I knew, clear as I’ve ever known anything, that I was getting sick because my system was reacting to being hammered by cooked food.
I could just feel it!
No-one could tell me it was because of an unseasonably late cold snap (we had a few inches of snow and sub zero nights in April … not too unusual I’m told). And no-one could tell me that it was because my friend had a cold and my step-dad had a cold.
Okay, I accept, I was exposed to a few germs. So what! Under normal circumstances my body would have had no problem at all.
But a week into the trip and it just surrendered to the inevitable.
Now that I’m back, I am on a mission!
I am eating raw again. Sensible raw, not high fat wretched raw! Fruits, green smoothies, salad greens, berries … and the odd handful of seeds, small avocado or small punnet of olives.
And in two days, my cold is beaten, I’m working out again (hard) and I have my motivation back.
The one thing I’m still struggling with is a touch of lingering depression. But I have an instinctive sense that that too will soon disappear and be replaced with my usual buoyant self.
Funny thing is, I love my family and I love my friends … but I have absolutely no idea how I am going to manage the food and drink thing in the future.
My strategy will be to lose so much weight and get so disgustingly healthy that they cannot help but notice immediately. Then it will be so much easier to gently cut back, or even do without … without ruffling any feathers or making anyone feel awkward.
It is my motivation now. Writing about it is cathartic sure … but it also means I have something very positive to strive towards.
My new strategy … lead by example.
I genuinely have no wish to tell people anything or make anyone feel that “my way” is in any way a “better way”.
But if I can get people whom I care about asking me what it is that I am doing, then maybe, just maybe, I can arrive at the breakthrough I have been waiting for.
Thanks for lending me your ear. If you have similar comments or observations about your own experiences in this most sensitive of areas, please go ahead and comment freely.
I’m sure I am not alone in finding this challenging.
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