A Balanced Diet and Other Bad Health Decisions (Richmond, VA)

I was recently reminded about the "balanced diet" I used to follow many years ago, when I lived, loved, and labored in Manhattan. Twice a day, I would consume a double scoop of some kind of chocolate ice cream -- balanced on a cone. I lost my appetite for other foods and I lost a lot of weight. Eventually, I lost my taste for ice cream, as well as all feeling in my lips and throat. I got pretty ill.

You will be pleased to know that my taste for ice cream has been restored and the ice cream diet has long been shelved. In fact, you can often spy a gallon (or what's left of it) of Edy's Slow Churned Chocolate-Something Ice Cream on my freezer shelf -- or on my hips.

During that same period of my life (or as I like to call it, The Ice Cream Age), I was drinking about 9 cups of coffee a day. One morning, as I made my way through a pedestrian tunnel, I thought the subway train was in the passage with me. When I stopped shaking (from fear? too much caffeine? both?), I resolved to cut down to one to two cups of Joe per day. Which I have continued to cut down to almost every day in the blankety blank years since.

Now older but, apparently, not much wiser, I find my hands reacting painfully to cold temperatures.(Raynaud's Syndrome? Lost Glove Disease? Hypochondria?). If I am, indeed, suffering from Raynaud's, one of the "simple" treatments is to completely cut out caffeine. In my finite wisdom, I have decided that I will just have to endure the occasional "my-fingers-are-going-to-fall-off feeling," not because I always need something to complain about (because I don't -- not always, anyway) and not because I am contrary by nature (although some would argue with me about that), but rather because I do not wake up until after I've downed a rather (translation: very) strong mug of java each morning.

What? You're suggesting that I become a walking zombie, stumbling through life in a foggy-headed ... fog? I don't think so! I need every wit about me, and will even take half of them, to get through the pressures of my existence.

I could try biofeedback, another remedy for Raynaud's, which might help me to control my stress, blood pressure and other bodily function levels. An intriguing possibility: anything with the word "feed" in it sounds like something I could sink my teeth into. Let me have a cup of coffee, a scoop of ice cream and the time to consider it. I'll get back to you....

What Happens When I Don't Make the Cut (Richmond, VA)

Do not -- I repeat -- DO NOT ever leave me alone in my kitchen. If I am happy, angry, anxious, sad, bored, or even just slightly awake, I will eat anything and everything I find.

In no particular order and without feeling the least bit hungry, I have just consumed the following: a few rings of dried apple, a handful of cashews, almonds, walnuts and pumpkin seeds, several purple cabbage leaves and more salad dressing than they deserved, half a cup of defrosted blueberries, two cups of green tea, half a canister of whipped cream, too many purple corn chips, and an impressive chunk of Morbier (that lovely cheese with a great ash). I think I've probably also wolfed down some other stuff that I've already forgotten but which my hips and thighs will recall for months to come. This is not a recipe for success in my race to becoming the best possible me.

Had I only been able to convince my stylist to return to her salon and cut my hair, I would've taken a shower and a nap instead of cleaning out the pantry, fridge, and cabinets and filling up my cheeks as if I were a starving squirrel. I am in desperate need of a trim, but was unable to stop by the shop until I, serendipitously or un-, exited a meeting on time and close by. Alas, Donna is training to become a personal trainer, and because business was slow today, she decided to go home to study -- which sent me home to nosh.

Perhaps I can talk her into personally training me in order to help her practice and pass her exams. She'll cut off an inch or two of my locks on Saturday at nine a.m. and maybe knock off an inch from my abdomen, butt, and/or chins over the next month or two.

I might have to resort to agreeing to get my hair cut more -- and more often. Not a bad idea. If I can't win my fitness challenge by losing 20 pounds of ugly fat, maybe hair loss will give me the edge. Sure, I might end up looking (as I do when the cut is too short) like a baby dinosaur emerging from its shell, but I might emerge stronger.