Friday, February 17, 2006

Ten Years Of Pasta (or Processed Flour Is NOT My Friend!)

I'm not really sure how it started.

I used to love cooking.

Anyone who really loves to cook knows how exciting it is to have someone to cook for and I had found a man who not only loved me but actually seemed to enjoy my cooking. It didn't even matter that he was an omnivore and I had been a vegetarian for almost a decade.

At least, I didn't think it did. But I began to notice that he would head to the kitchen for something more to eat only an hour after dinner. So, I tried coming up with more and more substantial vegetarian fare.

Eventually, I settled on pasta.

And, for the next ten years, we had pasta in one form or another for supper almost every night. I cooked pasta. He cooked pasta. When we dined out we'd still often end up eating pasta.There is something very calming about pasta. No matter how stressful the day, pasta has an almost sedative effect.

The same might be said for toast.

A couple of slices with coffee around mid-morning, a cheese sandwich at lunch and herbed toast with a glass of wine before bed.

For a decade I ate like this. I was counting calories but my weight crept up and I went from a size 14 to a 16. (In case you're wondering, those are the ready-to-wear sizes and not pattern sizes. By this point I had largely given up even trying to sew my own clothes.)

Figuring that my metabolism was slowing down due to age, I stepped up my workouts and managed to celebrate my fortieth birthday as a size 14.

It turned out to be a short celebration. I took a job that had me stuck behind a register and soon landed me behind a desk. My weight began to climb and I began shopping for elastic-waist pants on the Size 18/20 rack at J C Penney.

It's probably not mere coincidence that I also started to injure my back with alarming frequency and was unable to sleep without ibuprofen

I was stressed and exhausted and, by the time I turned forty-four, I was a wreck.

Next time: Back On My Feet Again







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