My name is Sarah, and I am lazy.
There, I said it.
I will never run a marathon. I will never be a gym rat. I'm fairly certain that 6-pack abs aren't in my future.
I am a couch potato.
My entire adult life so far, I have primarily relied on my mother's genetics and an overabundance of anxiety to maintain my weight. Certainly not fitness regimens. And while I have generally always eaten well, the last few years my food choices went to crap as life got hectic and overwhelming, and my give-a-shit-factor all but gave up. Convenience foods, fast food, garbage snacks, those became my mainstays. I would cook gourmet meals on the weekends, but during the week it was essentially a sanity-saving free-for-all.
No mas!
My health has been a key factor for me since I was a teen, when my father was diagnosed at 40 with Stage IV fully-metastasized colon cancer and died less than a year later. Initially I ignored it (super healthy coping mechanisms coming in hot!), but after a few years I began reading up on colorectal cancers. The increased familial risks. The genetic factors. The dietary factors. And it basically scared me healthy.
I ate a clean, organic, whole grain, primarily vegetarian diet. I scrutinized ingredients. I thoughtfully paired together foods that ensured both forming perfect proteins and the inclusion of amino acids very easily left out of a plant-based diet. I canned all of the things. I baked my own bread. And I loved every second of it.
I was... mildly obsessed.
Still lazy, mind you. But very healthy nonetheless.
Gradually, as the fear subsided, I relaxed a little bit. But only just. I was fully, wholeheartedly committed to maintaining my health. After all, I had three babies to stay healthy for, and my biggest fear was getting sick. I knew what that loss felt like; I couldn't risk putting my kiddos through that.
I was a mama on a mission.
And then about 5 years ago, everything went to shit. My world as I knew it was crumbling around me, and I could not for the life of me figure out how to fix it. And that's when Survival Mode began.
Fuck organic and all natural. Boxed mac and cheese is perfectly lovely when your life is resembling a dumpster fire, amiright?!? I hit the drive thru. I bought frozen meals. I stopped reading ingredients. I hit the drive thru more. I bought items I previously solely made from scratch. My sole goal was to get through each day, put food in my children's bellies, and not succumb to the soul-crushing pain in which I was so deeply engulfed.
As months passed and the pain gradually began to subside, I started to step out of the fog bit by bit. But I was still deeply entrenched in Survival Mode. The ease of convenience meals maintained their allure as I spent my days running around like a chicken with my head chopped off. I was burning the candle at both ends, as well as several places in the middle. I was barely treading water. I was doing all of the other clichés associated with the hectic blur of single motherhood.
And in that place? In that overwhelming, exhausting, lonely, emotionally-draining existence? You do what it takes to make it through one. day. at. a. damn. time.
Keep the tiny humans alive and don't lose your shit in the process. Those are the only two goals you really have. The rest is superfluous.
And that's what I did.
And I was so wrapped up in this excruciatingly challenging season of my life that I didn't notice my health starting to decline. The migraines beginning to occur with greater and greater frequency. The nausea and heartburn occurring almost daily. The general feeling of bleh. And the subsequent weight gain.
I was trudging along, pouring my entire being into my children, into trying to create a life for us, into trying to create our happy little corner of the world, and I wasn't taking care of myself. I was pouring all of this from an empty cup.
And it took its toll.
Because of my heightened familial risks, I go in for preemptive screenings every two or three years, checking for any signs of colorectal or digestive cancers. And every time, those screenings have always come back clean.
Until now...
Changes are occurring. And while they're nothing super dangerous yet, they're signs that my risk factors have increased. Between my last test and this most recent one, the only real difference is the utter crap I've been putting in my facehole.
Like I said... no mas!
It was time to make some changes, tout suite.
(Yes, I am aware I just used Spanish and French in back-to-back sentences. I feel like it makes me complex and mysterious, mmmkay?)
While I'd known for a while that I needed to get back on the healthy track, I let my laziness, my stress, and the lure of convenience continue to dictate much of my meals.
These test results?
You guessed it.
Scared me healthy again.
I have too much life to live, too many good things happening, to risk it all for crappy (albeit tasty) eating habits.
I'm rapidly getting back to my old self; the health-obsessed girl poring over cookbooks and online recipes (Pinterest is my boo thang). I'm cooking gourmet meals virtually every night. I'm back to eating whole foods and ingredients you can actually pronounce. And while I will always love me some toxic plastic nacho cheese sauce, I haven't hit up the Taco Bell drive thru in... I honestly don't remember.
Oh! And my couch potato status?
Mildly in jeopardy!
I know right?!?
I mean, I haven't joined a gym, and I'm still nowhere near marathon or 6-pack status, nor do I desire to be. But I've been attending hot yoga 2-3 times per week lately, and going on 3.2-mile walks (yes, I've clocked the trail we take) as many times per week as the hubby can get me to. I admit, I'm still occasionally resistant, when the lure of the lazy beckons me, but I still begrudgingly acquiesce the majority of the time.
Because health, or whatever.
And also because fuck cancer.
I will never run a marathon. I will never be a gym rat. I'm fairly certain that 6-pack abs aren't in my future.
I am a couch potato.
My entire adult life so far, I have primarily relied on my mother's genetics and an overabundance of anxiety to maintain my weight. Certainly not fitness regimens. And while I have generally always eaten well, the last few years my food choices went to crap as life got hectic and overwhelming, and my give-a-shit-factor all but gave up. Convenience foods, fast food, garbage snacks, those became my mainstays. I would cook gourmet meals on the weekends, but during the week it was essentially a sanity-saving free-for-all.
No mas!
My health has been a key factor for me since I was a teen, when my father was diagnosed at 40 with Stage IV fully-metastasized colon cancer and died less than a year later. Initially I ignored it (super healthy coping mechanisms coming in hot!), but after a few years I began reading up on colorectal cancers. The increased familial risks. The genetic factors. The dietary factors. And it basically scared me healthy.
I ate a clean, organic, whole grain, primarily vegetarian diet. I scrutinized ingredients. I thoughtfully paired together foods that ensured both forming perfect proteins and the inclusion of amino acids very easily left out of a plant-based diet. I canned all of the things. I baked my own bread. And I loved every second of it.
I was... mildly obsessed.
Still lazy, mind you. But very healthy nonetheless.
Gradually, as the fear subsided, I relaxed a little bit. But only just. I was fully, wholeheartedly committed to maintaining my health. After all, I had three babies to stay healthy for, and my biggest fear was getting sick. I knew what that loss felt like; I couldn't risk putting my kiddos through that.
I was a mama on a mission.
And then about 5 years ago, everything went to shit. My world as I knew it was crumbling around me, and I could not for the life of me figure out how to fix it. And that's when Survival Mode began.
Fuck organic and all natural. Boxed mac and cheese is perfectly lovely when your life is resembling a dumpster fire, amiright?!? I hit the drive thru. I bought frozen meals. I stopped reading ingredients. I hit the drive thru more. I bought items I previously solely made from scratch. My sole goal was to get through each day, put food in my children's bellies, and not succumb to the soul-crushing pain in which I was so deeply engulfed.
As months passed and the pain gradually began to subside, I started to step out of the fog bit by bit. But I was still deeply entrenched in Survival Mode. The ease of convenience meals maintained their allure as I spent my days running around like a chicken with my head chopped off. I was burning the candle at both ends, as well as several places in the middle. I was barely treading water. I was doing all of the other clichés associated with the hectic blur of single motherhood.
And in that place? In that overwhelming, exhausting, lonely, emotionally-draining existence? You do what it takes to make it through one. day. at. a. damn. time.
Keep the tiny humans alive and don't lose your shit in the process. Those are the only two goals you really have. The rest is superfluous.
And that's what I did.
And I was so wrapped up in this excruciatingly challenging season of my life that I didn't notice my health starting to decline. The migraines beginning to occur with greater and greater frequency. The nausea and heartburn occurring almost daily. The general feeling of bleh. And the subsequent weight gain.
I was trudging along, pouring my entire being into my children, into trying to create a life for us, into trying to create our happy little corner of the world, and I wasn't taking care of myself. I was pouring all of this from an empty cup.
And it took its toll.
Because of my heightened familial risks, I go in for preemptive screenings every two or three years, checking for any signs of colorectal or digestive cancers. And every time, those screenings have always come back clean.
Until now...
Changes are occurring. And while they're nothing super dangerous yet, they're signs that my risk factors have increased. Between my last test and this most recent one, the only real difference is the utter crap I've been putting in my facehole.
Like I said... no mas!
It was time to make some changes, tout suite.
(Yes, I am aware I just used Spanish and French in back-to-back sentences. I feel like it makes me complex and mysterious, mmmkay?)
While I'd known for a while that I needed to get back on the healthy track, I let my laziness, my stress, and the lure of convenience continue to dictate much of my meals.
These test results?
You guessed it.
Scared me healthy again.
I have too much life to live, too many good things happening, to risk it all for crappy (albeit tasty) eating habits.
I'm rapidly getting back to my old self; the health-obsessed girl poring over cookbooks and online recipes (Pinterest is my boo thang). I'm cooking gourmet meals virtually every night. I'm back to eating whole foods and ingredients you can actually pronounce. And while I will always love me some toxic plastic nacho cheese sauce, I haven't hit up the Taco Bell drive thru in... I honestly don't remember.
Oh! And my couch potato status?
Mildly in jeopardy!
I know right?!?
I mean, I haven't joined a gym, and I'm still nowhere near marathon or 6-pack status, nor do I desire to be. But I've been attending hot yoga 2-3 times per week lately, and going on 3.2-mile walks (yes, I've clocked the trail we take) as many times per week as the hubby can get me to. I admit, I'm still occasionally resistant, when the lure of the lazy beckons me, but I still begrudgingly acquiesce the majority of the time.
Because health, or whatever.
And also because fuck cancer.
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