Endless Summer - Part I

Remember when summer meant 2 ½ months of doing exactly nothing? Going to the pool, maybe working a few days a week, hanging out with friends, driving around, getting into trouble…you know, fun stuff. Even now, as an adult, summer is the time of year where taking off early from work on a Friday is expected and vacations with family mean actually getting to relax for a minute?

*Sigh* Those were the days. Why, oh why, do I keep thinking that taking on class schedules that suck actually “won’t be so bad?”

I was scheduled for two six week classes this summer. Not so bad, considering I did it last year and it was gravy. This summer would be a Nutrition class first, a nice easy class that didn’t really do much for me except check off another prerequisite in the list of classes to prep for veterinary school.

Well, my easy “skate through” class turned out to be 1) one of the most informative classes I’ve ever taken in the field of personal health; and 2) one of the most stressful classes I’ve ever taken in the field of personal health. Don’t get me wrong, the class was SUPER easy and the instructor was amazing – one of the nicest people on the planet, I’m convinced. Seriously, the woman brought in homemade popcorn for us because she just wanted to bring us a treat, a courtesy not seen extended since the 3rd grade. However, behind the warm fuzzy persona was a diabolical health nut set to destroy all the food consumption conventions held dear to all of us since we were weaned off the bottle (or booby, if your mama was into that sort of thing). The feeling of ease I looked forward to in terms of class schedule and reduced intellectual challenge was handily replaced by the immeasurable doom of the course’s content.

In six short weeks, this woman has scared me off eating anything doesn’t have an “organic” label on it. Actually, she did a good job of scaring me out of eating anything that doesn’t come from the outer ring of the grocery store (fine by me, I was tired of mops and zip lock baggies for dinner anyway – oh, snap!). T and I have even started shopping at the local hippie food store, buying organic produce and all natural, whole grain crap. Don’t be surprised when you get the invite to the all night Kumbaya sing-a-long at our house – I’m sure it’s right around the corner.

[I had originally intended to write a post that went into GREAT detail about all of the horrors of commercial food production, but I’m still having nightmares about it, so I’ll spare you the grisly, nasty facts. Well, except one: if you think the mass-produced milk you drink doesn’t have mucus and/or blood in it, you’re horribly deluded. Can you see, now, why I’m mourning the loss of many years of ignorant bliss?]

These revelations have had both positive and negative effects on my lifestyle. Shopping trips have become exponentially simplified, since the square footage of store I need to traverse has been reduced significantly. The amount of decisions I need to make has also been drastically cut as now I eat salads and some form of meat for dinner and cereal/yogurt/fruit for breakfast. This is nice. I hate making decisions. And, through eating better, I can perhaps get a better handle on losing some of that “Freshman 15” I gained when I started school. OK, Freshman 25…whatever.

But what I gain in a more efficient, nutritious and better digested diet I lose in psychosocial well-being. What it really comes down to is, what I would kill to sit down to a nice meal of Kraft macaroni and cheese dinner and a bag of Oreos. But noooooooooo! Anything made with any sort of hydrogenated oils (partially or fully hydrogenated) is bad for you. [I won’t be discussing why that is in this forum, but go google it some time. You’ll see.] Do you know how freaking hard it is to break an addiction to all things hydrogenated? Seriously, start reading your labels. A large majority of your processed foods contain these evil fiends. Even Triscuits, yes Triscuits contain the awful stuff. If you do start checking labels, don’t blame me for your subsequent depression, though. I’m still recovering myself.

I got out of this class a much wiser person. As with anything, I suppose, with wisdom comes a sadness attributed only to innocence lost, in this case, a dietary innocence. And to think that I didn’t even need this class to satisfy a degree requirement, but in anticipation of a larger calling, a fact that may prove even more depressing. I knew veterinary school would cost me a fortune, to the tune of a mortgage payment, but I didn’t expect to lose my Oreos, too.

Next posting…physics class or Romper Room?