Food and Drink

How the Summer is Shaping Up

As anyone who has the misfortune of following me on Instagram is accutely aware, I am participating in Fitnessista's Summer Shape-up fun time extravaganza. I've been reading Gina's Fitnessista blog for YEARS. It's the only "fitblog" that I read consistently. Thumbs up for Gina. 

Right. So: Summer Shape-up. I'm going to do this thing. I've been carrying around too much extra weight for too long, but more than that I am ready to FINALLY--now that I'm 35, and it's high time--make exercise something I do. Like, for real. Regularly. And not just something I do, but something I enjoy, because I do like it...later. I mean, I'm dreading tomorrow's circuit training with the intensity of 400 fires, but I know that I'll feel all tingly in my body and happy in the brains afterward. And that I'll have an extra swish in my step when I walk home because that happens when I work out. I feel jaunty and shit.

Dinner
I started back into exercising regularly with the boyfriend with whom I split up (*sniff*), but it was mostly long city hikes and quick jogs and yoga. All of which was perfect precursor to this, which is--at least for me--pretty strenuous shit. (There was a move called the banana that she prescribes in which you V up in a crunch and then roll over onto your stomach and lift your arms and legs and then roll back over onto your back and then repeat this 20 times. Hahahaha, yeah, no. I tried one, and my limbs were so splayed that I feared I would kick the poor woman planking next to me. Or end up in the ER. Or both.)

Shapeup
The Summer Shape-up fun time extravaganza is not about losing weight,  but I am charting what I eat and trying to stay under a low but totally doable number of calories. This is where my real test of discipline lies. So far, so good, but it's only Day 2. And this is a 4 week affair. If I can abstain from a burrito for a month I want some kind of prize. A write-up in the Chronicle. And then a burrito.

So, yeah. Summer Shape-up. That's what's up.


Stupid Nutrition Advice: Don't Eat Corn; Make Your Own Popcorn!

Nutrition information is confusing. And it is no wonder why. Unless you are reading the scientific reports, the original source, you are likely going to get befuddling if not downright conflicting information.

I stupidly clicked on a link-bait article titled, "14 Foods You Should Never Eat." Never everrrrrrrrr! That sounded pretty absolute, so I clicked to find (bet you never could have guessed...) a SLIDESHOW.

Still, I forged ahead. There I discovered that one should NEVER eat unorganic strawberries. Or sprouts. Or corn.

Corn

Then just a few clicks away they say to never eat buttered microwaved popcorn. EVER. Instead? Make your own popcorn using real butter.

WHAT HAPPENED TO NEVER EATING CORN? That was just 5 slides back!

This happens all the time in women's fitness magazines and on "health blogs," but rarely have I seen the advice contradicted IN THE SAME ARTICLE.

It is no wonder people have no idea what to eat...

[photo credit]


I'd Totally Eat Breast Milk Ice Cream

Shop-to-make-breast-milk-ice-cream I would eat breast milk ice cream, and I don't really get why other people find the idea so repellent.

I mean, really, if you eat dairy, what you are doing is already more disgusting.

Humans drink the milk of cows, eat the cheese of goats and slurp the yogurt of sheep. We eat the mozzarella of a big, fat buffalo.

We consume the mucous-making life fluids of animals that are not us. That, if anything, is gross.

So, bring on the breast milk ice cream. I'll eat it up.


Dinner

Last night I took the 1-California line all the way to 10th Avenue. The air was cold enough that I could see my breath. I passed a Chinese hot pot place where diners sat in couples smiling over steaming bowls that fogged the windows.

I wandered into a Russian market that promised "fine cheeses," and there looked to be fine cheeses indeed, but I couldn't read anything in there, and the woman clerk never turned around from washing her hands, so I left and went to the Korean market that had everything I have never heard of. Kim chee sat in rows and rows in large refrigerators. Soju bottles held a barely-dressed smiling woman on the front, dozens of her. I selected a "pho" noodle soup packet for $1.50, some instant miso and made my way home.

After unpacking and arranging more of the kitchen, I boiled water and poured it over the packet's contents, popped The Big Lebowski in the computer and slurped salty, salty soup on my bed wearing the biggest socks you've ever seen.


Orange Drink

When I was a little girl my grandmother gave me oranges to eat. Regularly. She almost always had bright, round citrus around, and she almost always gave me one.

My Dad would cut a hole in the stem end of the fruit; a somewhat deep, but not gaping, hole.

Then I would squeeze the orange, and its juices would bubble to the top and up through the hole. My lips would become sticky from slurping up the liquid, the loud sucking sounds continued until no more came forth when I pressed with tiny hands.

I don't know why I don't eat oranges that way anymore.