If I wasn’t convinced, I certainly am now. But more interestingly is that I came away from the film realising how we are all lab rats in a huge false spinning wheel all the while being fed giant chunks of Bullshit disguised as cheese….or rather in my case, and the rest of the world’s, as white crystallised sweetness.
A huge part of me has guilt over the amount of sugar I have consumed over the years. My poor body, my poor liver. And I push this little body, which is trying to do its best, and is ageing to-boot! And expect it to perform! And on triathlon days when I am exhausted and beating myself up for not having gone harder, I wonder why. I berate myself for not having woken up earlier, say 20 years ago. I forgive my youth for being ignorant and overindulging, but as an adult of say 30, I should have got my act together. Now facing 50 in just 5 months, I wonder what the next 42 years (based on my Grandma life expectancy scale) will be like. Will my liver say FUCK YOU BOWDEN and just curl up and refuse to play the game? Will my cholesterol levels go so high that my body decides to dump some nice chunks of hardened fat in my arteries and squeeze the living day lights outta me? I wouldn’t blame my body if it did quite honestly. But you know what? For all the mis-treatment this ol’ bod’ has been through, it still ticks along ok. I can run (ran 1 hour last night comfortably btw, no ITB issues and loads of energy) Maybe, just maybe, it’s not too late and I can be kind to myself and take action.
Last night, (after the run) again very timely, we went to hear Dr Sandra Cabot talk about ageing and issues that we need to be aware of. It is quite surreal to hear the words ‘over 50’ and the sickening feeling, when you look over your shoulder and there isn’t a little old white haired, wizened lady standing behind you, that you realise that hey, she is talking about us! Holly crap are we 50!!!!!! When did that happen? Both Damon and Sandra talked about blood tests. I think one of my first actions (beside dropping sugar out of my diet) is to get some blood work done. I have a list, liver function LDL, ALT, Triglycerides etc. But also as a side note is a test for Vitamin D deficiency
Through my lense, I see the world slightly different as far as the calendar is concerned. (I reference my dad here as my source of learning and understanding on how the world works. A nature science minded Dood, no bit of paper required) but, my year doesn’t start on January 1st. It starts on October 7th. My birthday. Spring. Awakening, a butterfly opening her wings. It’s warm, I feel energised and I feel like I have emerged from a deep sleep. Even my wardrobe changes and the dresses come creeping out from under the doona. My seasons are simply broken in half, Spring and Winter, day time/night time. Come April 7th I am ready for hibernation. And so, on Gary’s birthday, exactly 6 months later, Zippety says, it’s time for bed!
|Zippety, a TV character from my childhood|
Back to Triathlon training.....This morning I was awake, I mean wide awake at 2:53am. I tossed around for a while and Gazza woke up at about 4:20am. I was still staring at the ceiling. We got up and Gaz went to the gym while I fluffed around until 5:30 and time to get ready for a swim session. When I arrived pool side I looked at the slash of blue as the sun was rising and against the blue was a plume of rising steam. The pool was cranking and a comfortable girl heat. So happy.
Tonight Big Gazza is working back late and I am on cooking duty. Wish me luck, no sugarrrrrrrr! Zucchini spirals with bacon, blistered tomatoes, homemade pesto. Photo to come.
Flashback Sugar Memory….
I remember the X buying, at least weekly, a 6” cake box packed to the brim with cream filled soft profiteroles. The chocolate topping, the mock cream, the choux pastry. I can still taste their lushness. Confession.....I never stopped at one, I just couldn’t. Between us we would shovel them down. I knew at the time I was over doing it. But I couldn’t stop. I had no will power and neither did he. Honestly, I didn’t want him to stop buying the sweet mouthfuls of false happiness and he didn’t stop. Shamefully, one particular time has stuck rigidly in my mind, when we devoured a full box and then he went back and bought another box. I reckon in that space in time, I have devoured about 8 Croquembouches alone. It’s a horror story of addiction and loss of control, people!