It’s hard to talk about being healthy and eating correctly without making people want to roll their eyes all the way back in their head and eat a fat hamburger on a glazed donut bun. Believe me, I know. My mother had cancer when I was two, and after surviving it, she became a certified health nut. As you can imagine, I heard all about eating healthy, drinking water, taking herbal supplements and of course, the endless verbal assaults at every mainstream medicine commercial to ever air on television.
My rebuttal? What’s the point of living life if I have to cut out one of the things I enjoy most: food.
Funny thing is, we all grow up eventually and our priorities shift. One morning, I woke up tired of feeling tired of how I felt. I’m 25, average height, average weight, but yet, I can guarantee there are people who are 60 who feel better, more energetic, healthier i.e. happier than I do. And that is not okay. I should–and could–easily be in just as good of shape as I was in high school or college or before kids. So, I decided to take back my body by taking control of two things: my mind and what I put into my body.
Most people have no idea how good their body is designed to feel.” –Kevin Trudeau
At first, I dipped my toe in. I did #100DaysOfHealthy a few months back. It had its ups and downs. I was flakey at times, but I did it. I stopped eating added and unhealthy sugars, I cut out flour and dairy, I ran (almost) everyday, I oil pulled, I took supplements, I consumed a ridiculous amount of veggies, nuts and lean meats, and I felt freaking good, for the most part–damn flakiness.
Then, we moved. We lived with friends who had different habits. We kept all of our familiarities in a storage unit and searched for homes constantly. I slipped back into old habits and stopped caring because it was easy. Because, why not, everyone else doesn’t.
Then, one morning, I wake up with my husband on one side and my 8-month-old son on the other. Eventually my 2-year-old daughter plows down the hall into our bed, and as I’m in and out of sleep, laughing at my beautiful children, I think.
I think about my 22-year-old friend who has cancer. I think about my mother who survived cancer. I think about my husband’s co-worker whose brother died of a heart attack days ago. I think about my father who’s survived a stroke and a heart attack. I think about how my legs ache, how I crave sugar, how sometimes my chest hurts and how out of shape I am.
I don’t know what happens when we die, but I sure as hell know I’m not ready to find out anytime soon. I know I don’t want to ever entertain the thought, “If only I had taken better care of myself.” I know not everything is curable but so much of it is preventable. I also know I’m not willing to live with the consequences of setting a bad example of health for my children or the consequences of living unhealthily. I know I’ve seen too many people in the hospital for reasons that didn’t have to exist. Most of all, I know I want to live life feeling healthy and happy for as many days as I can possibly squeeze out of it, and if I have any inkling of control over how many days that is via my health, I’m going to utilize it. It’s worth never even seeing a fat burger on a glazed donut bun again if my kids have a mother, my husband has a wife, my blog has a writer, and I have a body and mind that is as clear and as healthy as I can possibly make it.