…that it sucks when my ankles swell up to a size they’ve not been since I gave birth to my youngest child some eleven years ago. It also sucks that it took three days to get the swelling to go down.
…that my doctor will look at me like I have grown a second head when I come in with a written list of things I wish to discuss with her. I’ve been saving them up for the last year – since my last appointment with her. I think I may have overwhelmed her. I really like her, but I miss my old doctor. She understood me.
…that perhaps I should stop self-diagnosing and informing my doctor of what ails with me before she has a chance to offer her professional opinion. I think she sends me out for diagnostics just to prove to me that she is the one with medical degree.
…that I still hate Beowulf with a passion and I am still unable to retain the story. This caused me a great amount of angst and embarrassment this week when I bombed a surprise quiz on the piece. When I say bombed, I mean I received credit for one correct answer out of five.
…that I really am disgusted with the cafe on my college campus and am dismayed to know that this campus is the only one in the district its lack of sufficiently nutritious lunch choices. I am planning an extensive letter writing campaign to rectify the problem. In case you miss my previous post on this subject, you can read more about my recent experience [here].
…that it is absolutely wonderful to see the beginning of October. I am looking forward to spending a few hours at my favorite pumpkin patch this weekend and heralding in the start of the best season of the year.
…that I enjoy studying with the older gentleman who sits in front of me in my Western Civilization class. He is a lot like me, in school for the sake of learning and no other reason. However, the slacker who sits at the end of my row, in the same class, can bite me. I would be more than willing to share my notes and study guide with him if he actually put forth an effort to show up to class. Does this make me a bitch? Perhaps. However, in the last couple of years, I’ve become very familiar with the two types of students that darken the door of my classes. You have your worker bees – like me – and the mouth breathers, as I affectionately like to call them. They are the late arrivals, the nappers, the texters, the food munchers, the “my dog ate my homework” excuse slingers. And that’s if they even bother showing up to class at all. These are also the ones who dissolve into a full-blown panic attack on test day and want to borrow everyone elses notes and study guides so that they may have a snowball’s chance in hell of passing. I am an unsympathetic person by nature. I feel that your lot in life is determined by your own actions. If you don’t put forth an effort to advance yourself, then you have no one to blame but yourself when everything goes terribly bad for you. This makes me very unpopular. I couldn’t care less.
…that my beautiful daughter is obsessed with something called Invader Zim. I don’t know if I should be disturbed by this or not. It seems to be a far cry from her former iCarly obsession. Perhaps it will pass soon.
…that nothing ruins a workout more than having a woman get on the elliptical next you with foul-smelling breath. Yesterday, I was minding my own business, getting my grove on to some 70s era disco music, when I smelled something horrifying. I looked to my left, the direction I thought the odor was permeating. Next to me was a woman who I regular see at the gym. I’ve been stuck next to her on the elliptical before and it was a slightly unpleasant experience then, too. Yesterday, however, she must have eaten a whole bushel of onions the night before because she reeked. It was so nauseating, that I had to leave the area completely. So, unfortunately, I did not get my cardio workout in, and instead had to pass the time on the weight machines. I guess it all worked out. Today, she was there before me and I was smart enough to opt for a machine at the opposite side of the gym. The air quality was much improved.
…that it has been one of those weeks where I am academically overwhelmed and creatively uninspired. Hopefully, next week will be better and the Man vs. Beast segment will be back in full swing. I do have some great stuff bookmarked and my ever diligent brother has sent me a couple of things I missed.
…last but not least…this week’s awww moment is brought to you by Fran, a fifteen year old gorilla who resides at the Bronx Zoo in New York City, and her encounter with a duckling who wandered into her enclosure.
Nutritional health is something very near and dear to my heart. As anyone who knows me can attest, I am very particular about what I deem worthy of ingestion. I can give you a ballpark estimate of the caloric content of just about anything – within reason, of course. I wasn’t always this way. I used to feast unabashedly on anything and everything that caught my fancy. Of course, one cannot overindulged for any length of time without suffering devastating consequences. It’s that whole cause and effect thing. It will bite you in the ass every time. It certainly bit me in the ass. Hard. At my heaviest, I tipped the scales at 170 lbs. That may not seem like much to some, but put that much weight on my frame and, well, let’s just agree that it wasn’t necessarily my most attractive moment. I’ve talked about my awakening before and the journey to meet my weight loss goals. It wasn’t easy. It took discipline, committment, lots of exercise, and constant calorie counting. This may sound burdensome, but after a while the counting became second nature and part of my everyday life. A true lifestyle change. My new normal.
Losing the weight, however, was just one step in the journey. The moment of truth would come in maintaining it. It is something I am still doing and will until I take my last breath. Hopefully, I’ve staved off the end by a few years with my due diligence. Or maybe it will all be in vain. There is always the possibility that I will get hit by a bus crossing the street, but the way I choose to look at it is like this: I will not have to worry about looking fat on the medical examiner’s table when he’s cutting open my chest in search of which blunt force trauma did me in. I say that alone is worth the sacrifice.
This bit of rambling nonsense brings to me to what prodded me into writing this blog entry instead of working on the next Man vs. Beast offering that my husband would rather be reading right now. I am on the campus of a community college twice a week. I come early in order to enjoy a bit of quiet time and finish up any straggling assignments I may have or work on some of my other writing endeavors. Unfortunately, all this exertion of brain power makes me hungry. Sometimes, I have the forethought to stick a couple of things in my bag to nosh on, as I run out the door in the mornings. Sometimes I don’t. Today was one of the days I didn’t. By midmorning my stomach was gnawing at my spine, and I was forced to wander over to the poor excuse for a dining establishment this campus offers.
My husband would say that my disdain for this place is my elitist personality rearing its ugly head. That I am spoiled and am expecting far too much. I would say that I pay good money (cash, paid in full at the beginning of each semester) to attend this school, the least they could do is offer me a decent place to eat with some healthy, nutritional food choices.
How bad could it be, you ask?
Well, I’ll tell you.
My first semester on campus during the lunch time hour was last fall. I naively went in search of a turkey sandwich. I like my turkey sandwich – and every other sandwich, for that matter – simple. Meat, wheat bread, a little lettuce, a tomato or two. No condiments, no added fuss. Easy peasy. I gave my order to the unpleasant lady manning the counter and was horrified by what happened next. She plopped some mystery meat down on a greasy griddle, slathered two pieces of white bread with an equally mystifying oil substance, and then promptly slapped them down on the griddle next to the meat. This was the conversation that followed:
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“You ordered a turkey sandwich. This is a turkey sandwich,” she said giving me a look I can only describe as demonic.
“No it isn’t. I just want a plain turkey sandwich.”
“You know, a sandwich. I don’t want anything grilled.”
“We don’t have that today.”
It turns out that this very nasty woman was right. There was no plain Jane turkey sandwich on wheat anywhere in that place. Every sandwich listed on the “menu” is prepared in this fashion. That’s when I took a good look around and realized that anything that could be remotely considered healthy was relegated to a tiny area next to the cash register. The pickings were slim. Yoplait yogurt – not the fat-free kind (insert eye roll here) – a pre-packaged container of a handful of grapes, a few slices of apple and a couple of crackers, those little single serving cereal things, and some unidentifiable muffins. Though muffins cannot really be considered healthy once you factor in their overall calorie and sugar content.
I left and vowed to never return.
The problem with making vows like that is that you often have to break them out of necessity or desperation. Desperation lead me back into that diner from dietary hell today. I perused the “menu” tacked just outside the door and decided that I would sacrifice some carbs and allow myself the pleasure of a bagel. I took my place in line behind a young man who ordered a hot dog. Not my first choice for breakfast fare, but you have to remember that these are young people who have yet to grow any common sense. I have faith he will learn the error in his way one day. As I stood waiting my turn, I watched the gentleman manning the counter pull a hot dog out of a refrigerated unit, slice it down the middle, opening it up butterfly style, and plop it face down on the greasy griddle. He reached into a bread bag, pulled out a bun, slathered the inside with mystery oil, and slapped it down next to the hot dog.
“Can I help you?”
I realize that this question is directed at me.
“I’d like a bagel, please.”
He gives me the look.
He turns to consult with his co-worker. After a few seconds of whispering, they both turn to me and inform me that they are out of bagels.
“An English muffin?” I saw that on the menu, too. No better or worse for my waistline. The substitution was acceptable.
They shake their heads in unison.
Are you kidding me?
“I don’t want anything then, ” I said in a voice that was probably a lot bitchier than it should have been, but really. Out of bagels AND English muffins, but the guy in front of me can get his fill of fried hot dogs?
Out of pure desperation, I settled on a cranberry muffin and a full fat yogurt. More calories than I wanted to ingestion for breakfast, but I suppose that was my penance for not leaving the house fully prepared for the day.
I cannot help but wonder why, in this day and age of increased awareness in health and wellness, that this diner, or campus for that matter, would choose to provide sub-par food that lacks any significant nutritional value. I understand that this is a public education establishment and there has been quite a lot of fiscal belt-tightening needed to keep up the level of services provided to the growing student body. I also understand that a good number of my fellow students are young people who largely have no idea that the candy bar and soda they are consuming for breakfast every morning will cause them catastrophic health problems down the road. Health problems that you and I and every other taxpayer in America will end up footing the bill for in higher insurance premiums.
Youthful ignorance is a wonderous thing.
However, these young people who throw dietary caution to the wind do not make up the whole of the student body. There are plenty of people like me. People who understand that they are what they eat, and who want a healthy alternative to a fried hot dog and greasy grilled sandwiches and fries. I’m not saying that they have to get rid of this junk food. I would certainly never want to deprive anyone of their sodium and fat fix, but why should this be the only thing available. Why can I not get a salad? A plain turkey on wheat? A fat-free yogurt cup. I’m not even asking for the healthier Greek yogurt. Yoplait is sufficient. I will even pay a premium price for these choices. As would a large number of my fellow students, I’m sure, if they were given the choice.
I understand that with healthy food choices, the mantra “If you build it, they will come”, does not always apply. There are many who are satisfied filling their bodies with junk. However, I’d like to think that with the obesity epidemic that is plaguing our country today and the health issues contributed to such, that more and more people are increasingly conscience of what they ingest and are seeking healthier alternatives. I believe this school’s dining facility is operating way behind the curve and has a lot of catching up to do.
So I’ve identified the problem. What to do about it? Simply bitching about the lack of choices will not bring about change. I think a protest is in order. A picket line? Crudely made signs spelling out our grievances? A sit in? Perhaps we can chain ourselves to the legs of the pool table that sits right outside of the little cafe.
That all sounds very reasonable to me. But then again, as I sit here in the library and scan the room, I see my fellow students drinking Big Gulps, chomping on chips, and snarfing candy bars. Perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps no one in this school wants to eat a salad but me.
Perhaps my husband is right and I am indeed an elitist snob who expects for too much from society as a whole.