eating healthier: or pizza is not a vegetable.

Usually, when we travel to Texas, we stay at my sister’s house. Now, this is my closest-in-age sister, the one you might have seen shaking her dreadlocks and dancing wildly on a stage. My other sister doesn’t have room for us, because her adult children have moved out and live in the spare room. And my brothers are rolling stones, metaphorically, and go where the wind blows. So.

We stay at my sister’s house, and she and her husband are relatively healthy types, with the muscles and the flax seed and the running for fun. Sometimes she tries to prepare for our visits by going crazy and buying something totally sugar-laden, like Organic Honey-Sweetened Oat Bombers! and her kids are all like, WOAH CHRISTMAS. And when she’s out of the house and I’m looking for something to eat, it’s like cherry tomatoes and thin sliced swiss cheese, maybe some turkey bacon in the freezer, or in the pantry, it’s baggies of birdseed and dried berries with some wheat germ or something. Maybe some jar of stone ground almond butter, stuff like that. And maybe that is why they look like this, except maybe less costumed.

At our house, not so much. We eat primarily fast food, and at home it’s usually pasta, pizza or Mexican food. All of which are reasons I might only be months away from driving around on a Wal-mart scooter piled with Cheez Whiz and doughnuts. And then I’ll have to get a chihuahua.

The first time through bootcamp, I didn’t do the recommended diet, because I figured the exercise would be miserable enough. Besides, I love food. I think about it all the time. Food is so good. And I love all the bad stuff the MOST. But I’ve had this inner voice for a while, reminding me about aging, and genetic diseases like diabetes and heart disease and hypertension and such. I’m always like, geez, inner voice, you must be fun at parties! And then my inner voice is like, hey chunky, if you want to go to parties when you’re 50 without an oxygen tank, maybe you should do some listening… and then I’m like, hey, inner voice, how you like these Oreos?

But now I’m going to try it. I think. Maybe. Just try to cut out my daily Coke, maybe make it a weekly Coke. And maybe try to eat fruit for the sweets craving. And try to make meals with meat and vegetables instead of pasta and butter. Just try to clean up our act a little, maybe add some more years to our lives. Years of eating broccoli and drinking water.

Disclaimer: if you see me snarfing fries and Coke, don’t judge. I have a LOT of loophole room in the above statements. Also, expect some whining about this.

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