WHEN YOGURT GOES
28 December 2002
I've eaten enough yogurt over the past year to insure such strong bones that they will
last long, long, long after the rest of me has disintegrated. I've become a real
devotee of Yoplait non-fat strawberry yogurt. The other flavors are pretty good too,
but I have a soft spot in my heart for strawberry and have probably kept a few small
family berry farmers in business as well.
What more perfect food is there than yogurt? You got your protein, you got your
bacterial cultures, you got all your good stuff. Nature's perfect food.
Until they decide to jazz it up.
Some time back, when I was working long hours and was unable to leave the office to pee,
much less to buy lunch, Dr. G brought me in a lunch he'd made with his own lily white
hands-a delicious sandwich and a dessert of Brown Cow yogurt. A nice sweet-faced,
innocent little cow adorns the label and there are all sorts of guarantees of its
goodness, its wholesomeness. It's made only by small family owned businesses who
promise not to treat their cows with rbST (whatever that is). And it tastes good
Today, I was in the supermarket and decided to treat myself to a container of Brown Cow
rather than succumb to even more temptation than I already have this week.
I was sitting here savoring the creamy texture and happened to glance at the nutritional
information. Not Brown Cow. HOLY Cow. The Yoplait that I
normally buy has 120 calories. This thing has 230 calories, 8 grams of which is pure
fat. That's the "cream top" layer they give it-a quarter inch layer of
pure thick cream. Just what I didn't need. What a terrible thing to do to an
otherwise diet-friendly food!
I have to admit that I'm rather pleased with myself. With all the temptations of the
holiday season, I've managed to eat within my point range. The only problem is that
it's my monthly point range. I'll be OK as long as I don't eat again until
Yes, folks, I have blown the diet completely out of the water. Two of my
favoritest foods in the world are pumpkin pie and turkey stuffing. The turkey that
the psychiatrist gives us each year is the most deliciously moist meat going. And
not only did I decide to throw caution to the wind and actually get hors d'oeuvres for
Christmas dinner, everyone else who came decided to bring some as well.
When I waddle into Weight Watchers on Tuesday I will be very lucky if I've only
gained 10 lbs or less.
And compounding that is the fact that with (a) Cindy in Hawaii, (b) the weather miserably
cold, (c) there being so much busy work in getting ready for the big family dinner, and
(d) having the kids around to visit with, and (e) my incredible ability to rationalize, I
haven't set foot inside the club in the past 3 weeks and have put less than half a mile on
the Blue Angel.
This is the very worst that it's been since I got all health conscious a year ago.
The frightening thing is how very quickly all good habits evaporate in the face of all
these temptations. I am learning through all of my "slips" of the last
three months that this is an all-or-nothing thing for me. I truly am like an
alcoholic. I can't have a sip or a nibble and be all philosophical about it. A
nibble turns into a full-scale dive into whatever it is that I've decided to just
"taste." I went for eight months without a single taste of butter. I
really thought that after a year of regimented eating, developing new tastes, truly liking
the things I've been eating, that I had actually begun to develop new habits.
Bzzt. Wrong. One "a little dab of butter won't hurt, after all this time
and after all it's a special occasion," quickly escalates into full scale overeating,
complete with that stuffed feeling you get when you know you've far exceeded your
stomach's capacity. All those normal bodily functions suddenly revert into the
"old ways" that were so unpleasant. Suddenly, the waistband still fits,
but just a tad more snugly than it did a month ago.
And you realize that you are once again out of control.
If there is any good about this it's that I do have a year of this eating program under my
belt (along with a quarter turkey, a vat of stuffing and half a pumpkin pie). I can
still swing my leg over The Blue Angel and pedal down the street, though I suspect that
when Cindy and I take up our schedule again, it will be a couple of days before I'm
"up to speed" once more. And I haven't outgrown anything. Yet.
So with the holidays now behind us (except for New Year's Eve and the two parties I'm
going to that night), January can become austerity month. My plate will be heaped
with greens and the Brown Cow will be put out to pasture once again.
8 gms of fat.
Santa Jeri, 1966
It's My Rut and I Like It
But I'm definitely a "rut" person, so if you're going to introduce me to
something new, better make sure it's either so exciting it's worth making an instant
switch, or give me time to adjust to the change.
Two Years Ago
Memories Are Made of This
It brought back lots of memories for me. ...hide and go seek, Simon Says, Red
light- Greenlight. Lunch boxes with a thermos . .chocolate milk, penny candy from the
store, hopscotch, butterscotch, skates with keys, Jacks, Hula Hoops, wax lips and
mustaches, Mary Janes, saddleshoes. Do kids play hide and go seek any more. Does
anyone remember what Simon Says is?
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