It’s like as soon as I wasn’t able to work out at full max I just threw in the towel and ate chocolate chip cookies and pizza. Don’t care.
It was actually during the making of these cookies Monday night that the crippling pain of my bike mishap first surfaced. I was fine for an hour ride and most of the evening but around 9p started to realize something was way off. While I can’t say I would push through so much as a headache to, say, finish a race, I will hop around on one foot until I die to finish baking cookies.
Katie Levans, Athlete of the Year.
Last week my parking company called to inform me I had been “accidentally” parking in the wrong lot right next to my building instead of the lot I pay for half a mile away. What a convenient error I had been making. Only on days when it rains. Or when I wear heels. How odd!
They were entirely too kind to even give me the benefit of the doubt (which I didn’t deserve) but threatened to boot my car if I ever “got confused” again anyway. Touche. I walked out the door to move my car and instead drove it straight to a bike shop and bought a new ride I can park inside the building without getting in trouble. Take that.
I needed a new bike for the triathlon anyway since apparently you can’t compete on a beach cruise (who knew?) but I felt like using it as a commuter would be an excellent way to train and also avoid additional parking tickets. The problem with riding your bike to work, as Jim Halpert knows, is it looks a little something like this:
Let me tell you about how my request to do more things landed me immobile and unable to do any things.
First of all, I’m that person who has to be doing something at all times. The one who, while on vacation, presents you with an hour-by-hour itinerary of the day’s activities like, “LET’S DO ALL THE THINGS THAT ARE POSSIBLE TO DO WITHOUT STOPPING OR SITTING DOWN.”
Over the weekend my boyfriend got his first taste of this when I requested that we “do more things” so we don’t fall into a rut of me sitting around in a sweatsuit watching Bravo every single night, which I’m pretty sure looked to him a little something like this:
I don’t like making wraps at home because it’s always a disaster. But if I’ve learned anything from Chipotle it’s that the best and only way to cram a whole bunch of filling into one flimsy piece of bread is to reinforce it with foil. Duh.
So today before yoga I threw all the leftovers I had into a whole wheat tortilla, reinforced it with foil, and reaped the benefits of not spilling shit all over the place. It was delightful.
I’ve been in a depressing food slump since returning to regular full-time working hours back in January and last week decided to start creeping back into cook-at-home mode. Mealtime is important to me. I like it official at a table with real dishes and multiple courses and no electronic devices in sight. The reality, though, is that I eat at my desk or standing over the sink or, worse, on the couch in front of the TV (and computer and phone all at once).
Part of it is that I’ve lost the free time I used to have for cooking and baking whenever I felt like it, but more of it, I guess, is that I’ve lost my curiosity about food. Just after college when I first made my switch from reading nutrition facts to reading ingredient labels, I became hyper-vigilant about what’s in my food and where it comes from. What went into the food I ate became more important than how few calories it had, a revolutionary concept for me at the time. Suddenly all the fat-free, sugar-free, low-carb “health” foods lost their allure when I learned about what was in them. And so began my love affair with whole unprocessed food–full fat, real sugar, and all the (right) carbs–and the beginning of the end of a lifetime of disordered, misguided food restriction.
From there I started experimenting in the kitchen, figuring out ways to make the stuff I know and love but with ingredients that passed a new higher standard. I learned new techniques, tried new foods and told everyone about it. That’s where blogging started. For the first time in my life I wasn’t actively trying to lose weight by eating as little as possible and, wouldn’t you know it, with this new approach to real food (plus the start of my yoga practice) I lost a bunch of weight. I eventually decided to study nutrition to see if, how and why the new way I was eating was in fact the right fuel for my body.
I studied everything from the microbiological effect of food inside our cells to the greater socioeconomic implications of our global food system. I worked in food science labs and food pantries and government agencies and school cafeterias. I learned about hunger and obesity and how to calculate the exact ratio of nutrients in a feeding tube formula. I memorized nutrition needs for AIDS patients and diabetes patients and heart patients and pregnant women and athletes and every stage of life from conception to death. I built a virtual restaurant from the ground up (architectural blueprints, appliance selection, menu creation, food sourcing and go-to market strategy). I re-wrote vegetarian versions of USDA-compliant school menus. I launched PlateShare. I was curious (and passionate) about everything. I devoured food and anything I could learn about it.
But at its simplest, I just cooked for myself every night because I love it. And that’s all I really miss, bringing it back to food.
Happiest of Caturdays to you and yours.
It’s official, a wealth of rationality rained down upon me and I’ve decided to bypass my dream apartment and just move into one double the size next door. Reasons include: ease and cost of move, overall square footage, ride or die Plaza Midwood for life, and that lovely skyline view I just can’t let go. It is more than I need but less than what I was shooting for so I’m happy with it.
Plus, these jokers will get their own room.
I’ve fallen into a depressing food slump that involves a protein bar for breakfast (so basically no breakfast), a lame salad for lunch and I don’t even know what for dinner. Just whatever I can slap together without chopping or cooking anything. The laziness is at critical mass.
In an attempt to reignite my interest in what I eat, I forced myself to prepare and document a throwback to some of my favorites. Here’s what I ate today…
Last weekend I went to Virginia to meet my boyfriend’s parents. They’re British so I felt this neurotic Kate Middleton level of style pressure in the days prior to departure because apparently I have wildly skewed caricatures of the motherland in my head. What to wear what to wear? (Insert British accent.)
I wanted something that said more “Katherine” than “Katie” because my whole life I’ve thought maybe just maybe I’d eventually grow into that name and maybe just maybe it would be this particular weekend. I thought I’d be Katie as a kid, Kate in grad school (never happened) and Katherine as a full-fledged adult. Even if no one ever calls me Katherine, I can at least embody her in clothing.
To meet the parents, Katherine (I think) would wear a modest and impeccably tailored knee-length dress, arriving polished, perfumed, and probably behind very big sunglasses.
Katie, I regret to inform you, arrived in jeans and a white t-shirt with an empty Chipotle cup in tow. Can’t win ‘em all, y’all.
There’s not a whole lot of color in my wardrobe so leave it to me to select my lone orange dress to wear to a restaurant whose accent color so happens to be the exact same color orange. I’m talking orange chairs, orange lights, orange signage. And then orange me.
This is why we just wear black and white everywhere, y’all. This is why.
Last week my boyfriend came home to find me balled up in the bed with my laptop 12 tabs and an Excel sheet deep in a personal animal testing investigation. I’d just seen a hideous video documenting the horrors of monkey testing and was in a state of inconsolable human guilt.”I can’t un-see it!” I wailed.
I consider myself fairly with it on the whole hippie animal ethics thing. I’ve been an vegetarian all of my adult life after giving up meat at age 16. I removed all leather from my wardrobe a few years ago and have never worn fur. I hate zoos and Sea World and all those other things that torture animals for our amusement. I have three companion cats that own my soul.
But when it comes to my beauty and cleaning products I have remained blissfully ignorant all this time. Animal testing is one of those things I know is happening, am totally not down with, but am largely lackadaisical about because I just like the smell of Febreze, you know. Until now.