You know, when TVgurl and I get together, it’s pretty much to be expected that we’d have some kind of friction. It’s the nature of our friendship, really. She, like her father before her, demonstrates affection by chiding. It can be anything from “don’t wear that, it looks horrible on you” (nail polish), to “Why are you sweating so much? Are you sick?” (No, it’s just that you Eastern Canadians have no sense of proportion when it comes to heating your indoors in the fall), to “How can you NOT eat breakfast?”
I do understand that she does this out of love, and compulsion. If she’s not saying things like this, it’s because she doesn’t love you. I haven’t always been good at taking it with the needed grain of salt, and have cited the term “frenemy” to her when I’ve been at my lowest, and utterly unable to muster the salt.
This last item of my above examples was the subject of our only heated debate during the visit. Which for us, is a pretty good result.
Over dinner, I announced that I don’t generally eat anything until about 11 in the morning. Well, actually - it had been a subject we’d touched on once or twice, as I watched her eat her yoghurt and/or cereal for two mornings in a row, while I’d stuck to my coffee.
In our debate, TVgurl had the experts on her side. The experts who tell you to drink 2 litres of water per day, to eat every three to four hours, to eat breakfast and to cease eating X hours before bed.
And yes, before you ask, I’ve paid attention to the experts, in the past. I’ve swilled water (resulting in me peeing nigh onto constantly), I’ve eaten on schedule (only to do the inevitable - gain weight), I’ve done weights at the gym and even worked with personal trainers from time to time (with no actual resulting weight loss or appreciable toning, despite consistent workouts).
The only time I ever lost weight was just before my wedding, when I restricted myself to an obsessive 1200 calorie per day diet. Which borders on starvation.
And it probably goes without saying, but I gained the weight back.
I did lose it again, through some exercise, a reduction of portion size, and, well . . . frankly, a lot of stress and a stomach surgery to repair a hernia and a crappy esophageal valve (which provided me with serious acid reflux).
Which has led me to my beliefs now.
TVGurl’s eyes bugged out when I told her that I’ve now rejected the experts. Wholesale.
I have done so for two reasons:
1) Experts DO NOT know your body better than you do.
Sayeth the experts: By the time you’re thirsty/hungry, you’re already dehydrated/starving.
Really? WOW! I guess I’d better start spending more proactive time on the toilet. Lord knows, by the time I feel the urge to pee, it’s going to be too late. Ooooh, and I’d better keep up with my anticipatory scratching, because my skin might peel forth from my body if I wait to feel an itch.
Yes, I know I’m taking it to the nth degree, but really? I believe our bodies were built to send messages to our brains, at precisely the time the information is needed. If this weren’t the case, I’d have placed higher bets on the longevity of the dodo than the entire human race. Hells, we may never have even made it past the single cell stage.
Moreover, how can one blanket truth possibly cover all of the differences that have developed through years of adaptation? You cannot tell me that someone whose ancestors have been desert-dwellers from time out of mind require the same amount of water as someone whose ancestors lived in the rain forest. THEY cannot tell me that.
2) Experts Change Their Minds. All the time.
Sayeth the experts: Thou Shalt Abjure Butter (ah but wait - maybe not. Maybe margarine is actually a bizarre and unnatural product, created in a lab).
Sayeth the experts: Thou Shalt Abjure Chocolate (oh, except not the dark kind. That’s acceptable. Come to think of it, it might actually be good for you).
Sayeth the experts: Thou Shalt Avoid, at all costs, The Alcohol (Red wine is okay. Well, wine is okay. OKAY, freeforall on the boozing!)
At this juncture, I have to believe that being sensible and moderate is a pretty damned decent approach to life, food and indulgence. It would be nice to live healthily into my nineties, but would avoiding any of the above guarantee that? Would I have enjoyed my abjuring lifestyle up until my dotage? What would happen to me when opinions changed, varied or were completely recanted as being *un*healthy? Would I then be a slave to health fashion, running from this camp to that camp, desperately trying to assure my longevity by discerning what is correct and what isn’t?
To be honest, I am a creature of pleasures. Not all of these pleasures are based on what I put in my mouth (oh, don’t you go there!), but I do think that if you can seize pleasure in your life, you should. In moderation, of course.
So here I am - back to the simple and basic principle that my body will tell me what I need to do, and that I can only occasionally listen to it when it demands pizza. And I don’t care how many eyes bug out at this pronouncement, because you know? I’ve been healthier, happier and more at peace with life since I adopted this principle then I ever was, chasing the great health answers.
