#Chewsday Update – And Other Weird, Made-Up Words

What the heck is #Chewsday Black Dog? – you may be asking yourself.  Well, let me tell ya.  Whether you really want to know or not.  So there.

bbbbllllpppprrrrhhhhh!!!!!

bbbbllllpppprrrrhhhhh!!!!!

I’ve teamed up with my accountabilibuddies, (yup – somebody made that one up too) over at Princess Prairie Runners and Darlin’ Rae in an effort to keep each other on track with our eating.  We’ve been stalking each other on our blogs, Twitter, and Instagram, and just acting as a support system when the evil junk food minions come a-callin’.

Here.  Have a banana.

Here. Have a banana.

We’ve had a few bad days along the way, but for the most part I think we’ve been able to give our efforts three out of four paws up!  Just knowing I’ll feel guilty if I go for the inevitable extra serving of that blasted tortellini the hubby insists on making every blessed week, (if only it wasn’t so friggin’ yummylicious!), helps keep this dog’s waistline from getting too out of control.  Just think girls, if we keep at it, we’ll end up looking like THIS!

Ok, maybe not.

Ok, maybe not.

I can honestly say I haven’t stepped on a scale for who knows how long, and to be honest, I really don’t care what the number says anyway.  My clothes fit pretty well – aside from a pair or two of pants that I wish fit just a LITTLE bit loser – but I’m living on the pavement and in the gym these days, so I’m good with it.  And we all have races to train for, so none of us will be spending much time sitting around on our dupas stuffing our yaps with crappy food.  I think our unofficial mantra has become, “eat like crap, feel like crap, train like crap.”  Pretty awe-inspiring, ain’t it?

Google awe-inspiring.  This is what you get.

Google awe-inspiring. This is what you get.

We’d love to have you join us our party train to happy bellies and happy training, so feel free to stalk us on our blogs, Instagram, or Twitter, using the hashtag #Chewsday.  You too can be one of the cool kids!  Maybe we’ll even get shirts made up.

Awesome-sauce.

Awesome-sauce.

Enjoy the ride.

Do you make better choices when you know someone has your back?

Ice Cream and Chocolate and Pasta, Oh My!

Those, in a nutshell, are what I consider the three basic food groups.  Okay, maybe not, but don’t you think they should be?  Where exactly is the justice in the foods that taste the super yummiest have to be so bad for you?  It’s not fair!  It’s horse hockey!  I’m not gonna take it anymore!!!!

Waaaaaaahhhhhh!!!!!

Waaaaaaahhhhhh!!!!!

All right.  Now that I got THAT out of my chocolate and Moose Tracks deprived system, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty of stuffing your yap.  It’s simple.  It’s hard, it’s challenging, and it can totally suck when you open up the freezer and see your ever-loving hubby has once again brought home a container of ice cream and restocked the peanut butter cups.  What fresh hell is this?! you may ask yourself.  Or not.  I do.  OFTEN.

cat stress

I typically start out the day with good intentions.  A healthy breakfast, healthy snacks, and what is becoming a daily refusal for that large, chewy, fresh-baked, OMG-now-I’m-drooling-just-thinking-about-it chocolate chip cookie from my favorite deli.  The occasional side trip into french fry land, (especially the curly and smiley kind), has become REALLY occasional as of late.  But as we all know, you can follow calorie counts, “diet” (geesh I hate that word) plans, or dietary changes until our brains see nothing but numbers when we look at our food.  And try as we might, the number on the scale, or the fit of our clothes, just does not change – often resulting in above noted feline facial manifestation.  In other words, we suffer from that completely exasperated expression which cause our significant others to suddenly find any excuse to have to go check out the front end alignment on their car.

What is it about our metabolism, especially as we hit those blasted 40’s, that causes everything to come to a screeching halt?  Is this Mother Nature’s idea of a really bad practical joke?  According to Wiki Answers, the average life span of a woman in America is 79 years old.  Seems a little off to me as I live in the mecca of all things senior here in south FLA, but who am I to question statistics?  Even if that is accurate, why do our bodies feel the need to start slowing down only halfway through the game?  Do you start kicking your pace back at mile 6 of a half marathon or mile 13 of a full?  Why would you?  There’s still a lot of ground to cover!  Knock it off cellular degeneration!  I’m not through with that mitochondria just yet!

cartoon-t-cell-hi

All of this human biology kind of stuff leaves me wondering…..why do some people have the ability to eat just about anything and kick out a mile like there’s nothing to it?  Especially when short, dumpy, vertically challenged types like me, who try to follow all the dietary rules as much as humanly possible, struggle to finish their runs somewhere before the end the current decade?  Why can’t we ALL have those super hero genetics???  Who’s in charge here?  I want to lodge a complaint!

As science has never really been my “thing”, all I can do is try to keep up with the brainiac types and hope that what they tell me about fruit, veggies, protein, and “good” carbs is all true.  At least for the moment.  Seems like they can’t make up their minds and stick with it for longer than it takes me to choke down a piece of asparagus.  Every day presents its gastronomic challenges and it seems to only keep getting more complicated.  So I propose this.  Mother Nature takes back her practical joke and creates everyone with the same metabolism.  Chocolate, ice cream, and spaghetti become our three major food groups and no animal ever has to die in order to feed another.  Pizza becomes the perfect breakfast food and wine and margaritas become necessary for proper hydration.  And to make the hubby happy, animal-free bacon no longer affects your cholesterol, blood pressure, or waistline.  We’ll all live to be a hundred but look like we’re twenty.  No one runs a half marathon in more than two hours or a full in more than three.  And our dogs live as long as we do.  But find a way to use the bathroom like the rest of us.  Who’s with me?!

Ooh! Ooh! Pick me! Pick me!

Ooh! Ooh! Pick me! Pick me!

 

Enjoy the ride.

Do you find your body reacting to food differently as you age?  Have you changed your eating habits over the years because of it?