The Leekening: Why
A few years ago, I cut all the bullshit out of my diet and lost a small amount of weight (about 30 lbs but with my considerable existing bulk it was hardly noticeable) and, more importantly, I felt better and stronger, both physically and emotionally. Of course, over time - because time is a ruthless monster - the bullshit and the weight crept back in.
Upon turning forty, um, a while ago, I decided that meant I was off the hook: I no longer had to march into every social or professional situation screaming "SORRY I'M NOT PRETTY SORRY SORRY SORRY PLEASE DON'T YELL AT ME I ASSURE YOU I AM AWARE OF MY CONDITION AND I'M VERY SORRY," to prevent well-meaning folks from taking me aside and trying to "help" me or assure themselves that I'm not just walking around unashamed of myself like some kind of criminal.
Of course, that rebellious I-don't-have-to-apologize-for-myself attitude was also applied to food, which was all well and good and I have no regrets, not even that mountain of crab fried rice I inhaled at lunch the other day, but now I'm so heavy I can barely move. I want to be able to, like, breathe and stuff. Just talking about losing weight makes me feel like I'm out to destroy everything feminism has done for me, but, seriously, I can't breathe.
I've done the MyFitness Pal and Weight Watchers stuff, but I just don't feel like counting every goddamn calorie/point/whatever and the THIS ONE THING COULD BE SABOTAGING YOUR WEIGHT LOSS NOW IS THE TIME TO HATE YOURSELF articles they pelt you with. I've also tried various books on the subject of weight loss that seem to pair the message, "You need to have a healthy relationship with food," with "Women should not eat. A healthy relationship with food means never thinking about or desiring sustenance."
Finally I read "French Women Don't Get Fat," by Mireille Guiliano, a well-known dietary advice book I had avoided because the title doesn't project equality, but it would appear she's writing about women based on her experience (never having been a man so far) and had she just tacked on "...Because They Aren't Eating Processed Bullshit," that would have qualified the title quite nicely.
Mostly the book is a collection of essays about delicious food and recipes for preparing that food, with a bit of advice about resetting one's brain to appreciate real food. Part of that advice is to kick off the "recasting" with a Magical Leek Weekend.
Apparently, you make a leek soup - which is nothing but water and leeks - separate the leeks out to eat when hungry with a dash of olive oil, salt and pepper - and sip the leek broth all weekend. I've decided to give it a go. Why not? I like leeks.
This is more words than I intended to write in explanation of why I'm going to consume nothing but boiled leeks and leekwater for two days.
Upon turning forty, um, a while ago, I decided that meant I was off the hook: I no longer had to march into every social or professional situation screaming "SORRY I'M NOT PRETTY SORRY SORRY SORRY PLEASE DON'T YELL AT ME I ASSURE YOU I AM AWARE OF MY CONDITION AND I'M VERY SORRY," to prevent well-meaning folks from taking me aside and trying to "help" me or assure themselves that I'm not just walking around unashamed of myself like some kind of criminal.
Of course, that rebellious I-don't-have-to-apologize-for-myself attitude was also applied to food, which was all well and good and I have no regrets, not even that mountain of crab fried rice I inhaled at lunch the other day, but now I'm so heavy I can barely move. I want to be able to, like, breathe and stuff. Just talking about losing weight makes me feel like I'm out to destroy everything feminism has done for me, but, seriously, I can't breathe.
I've done the MyFitness Pal and Weight Watchers stuff, but I just don't feel like counting every goddamn calorie/point/whatever and the THIS ONE THING COULD BE SABOTAGING YOUR WEIGHT LOSS NOW IS THE TIME TO HATE YOURSELF articles they pelt you with. I've also tried various books on the subject of weight loss that seem to pair the message, "You need to have a healthy relationship with food," with "Women should not eat. A healthy relationship with food means never thinking about or desiring sustenance."
Finally I read "French Women Don't Get Fat," by Mireille Guiliano, a well-known dietary advice book I had avoided because the title doesn't project equality, but it would appear she's writing about women based on her experience (never having been a man so far) and had she just tacked on "...Because They Aren't Eating Processed Bullshit," that would have qualified the title quite nicely.
Mostly the book is a collection of essays about delicious food and recipes for preparing that food, with a bit of advice about resetting one's brain to appreciate real food. Part of that advice is to kick off the "recasting" with a Magical Leek Weekend.
Apparently, you make a leek soup - which is nothing but water and leeks - separate the leeks out to eat when hungry with a dash of olive oil, salt and pepper - and sip the leek broth all weekend. I've decided to give it a go. Why not? I like leeks.
This is more words than I intended to write in explanation of why I'm going to consume nothing but boiled leeks and leekwater for two days.
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