No lifting today. I am supposed to go for my interval run. You see, back in September I was struck with a bad case of what most people would call “runner’s high” and what I would call insanity. I agreed to run the Army Run 5K with a friend, since I feel that being able to run 5K is a pretty baseline measure of adult fitness. I wanted to prove to my formerly fat self that I had this baseline fitness. In the days leading up to the race, I swore I would never run again. Then somehow, immediately after running the race, I became convinced that running 5K was terribly exciting and now I wanted to run the 10K on race weekend in May. I’ve been regretting signing up since the moment it happened.
Since I have nothing nice to say about running, so I won’t say anything at all. Instead, I would like to talk about sauerkraut.
You see, I’d been reading about sauerkraut because there are certain “Paleo experts” who recommend a daily dose of probiotics to keep yourself regular. I’m going to suggest that everyone observe a minute of silence since I am no longer eating what was previously the main probiotic in my diet: yogurt. But it’s okay, really. Because I have a new love in my life and it is sauerkraut.
It all started on Saturday. I was sitting around in my pajamas, drinking coffee and planning out what I would eat during my first week of my Paleo challenge, when the following e-mail landed in my inbox, sent from a friend of mine:
Yes. I watched the Squatty Potty movie with all of my coworkers. Who hasn’t? Seems like a solid team-building activity to me. But more importantly, I started browsing The Paleo Mom, who lead me to the following movie:
I’m sorry Paleo people, but I’m now concerned that eating like a caveman kills your sense of humour. That was painfully unfunny, and not just because I didn’t quite catch all of the references. Like are 3:07 when he’s drinking something out of a jar and says “This is totally normal behaviour.”
Whatever. Off I went to the funky smelling health food store to buy a few of the items on my list.
My visit to the Patchouli People was generally uneventful. That is, until I was making my way to the till and I passed a refrigerator full of fish oil and sauerkraut. Now, I’ve been knocking back Bick’s Wine Sauerkraut because I’m an idiot and didn’t realize that some sauerkraut pasteurized and and some is not. I’d been sucking back the nasty pasteurized variety, bitter vinegar taste and all, because I need to fix my intestines, people. I’m committed, I swear! I don’t care if it’s pseudoscience. If it will make me poop, I will buy it. But I recognize that my taste buds would be much happier if I could find some sauerkraut that was even slightly more palatable. I’d considered making it myself but my overflowing 11th floor apartment doesn’t really have the real estate and this whole challenge is already a test of my culinary moxie.
Sitting in that otherwise unsuspecting fridge was the very jar I’d seen not an hour in the hands of unfunny Paleo dude. It was Bubbie’s Sauerkraut.
It was destiny. A sign from the universe. I bought a jar, of course.
I went home. I served sauerkraut with my lunch. Oh.my.god. It was so delicious. I went back for another serving.
By Sunday evening, I was eating this stuff out of the jar.
THIS IS TOTALLY NORMAL BEHAVIOUR.
By Tuesday, I was back at the hippie market, stocking up on another couple of jars.
I can’t explain it. How can water and salt and cabbage taste this damn good? I don’t know.It’s kind of like PaleoKrunch: I read the list of ingredients, I recognize everything and then I can’t understand how the combination can taste so good. Since I’m now totally addicted, I presume they’ve forgotten to disclose “Crack” as an ingredient. And in an effort to uncover the secret ingredient, I fired up the ol’ Google. It turns out this stuff has a bit of a cult following and I’ve been fully initiated into that cult.
And so I am now on a mission to convince you that your life is lacking in sauerkraut. You might not realize it, but I’m quite certain it’s true – and since this stuff is not only tasty but potently probiotic, you can trust me. I’m no longer full of shit.
I decided yesterday that I am no longer going to count calories. Apparently my brain and body interpreted that message to mean, “Skip dinner. Come home and land face down in a jar of almond butter and then sit on your couch crying because you feel like you’ll always be fat, hungry and full of contempt for your own body.”
This is totally normal behaviour.
I’m hoping that in a few days my hormones will have regulated themselves into a place where I feel like I can deal with my weight and diet in a more objective manner, because right now this isn’t working for me.
In the meantime, I’m not awarding myself any points for the day.