Made to Crave – Defeating The Sugar Demon with God

I recently purchased the book “Made to Crave” when I saw a friend recommended it on Facebook. It sat on a shelf for a while, then in the all-purpose bag I take with me to work and everywhere else, and finally, today…I took it out and started reading it.

I don’t know how old this author is, but she shares my story. She knows what it’s like to cycle over and over through good eating and bad, discipline and rampant consumption. In short, she knows what it’s like to experience what she terms “spiritual malnutrition.”

And then to look Jesus in the eye and have him say: “I want you to give up the one thing you crave more than me. Then come, follow me.” If I truly want to commit myself to God, I have to change what is most important in my life – from food to Him. My commitment to good food has to be about more than looking and feeling good, it has to be about God. As she calls it, a spiritual “want to.” I like this statement:

“Honestly, I am made for more than a vicious cycle of eating, gaining, stressing – eating, gaining, stressing…I am made to rise up, do battle with my issues and, using the LORD’s strength in me, defeat them – spiritually, physically, and mentally – TO THE GLORY OF GOD.”

This is so true for me. The more good things I eat, the more I crave them. The more sugar I eat, the more sugar I crave.

Her explanation is that Satan is at the root of our cravings – the cravings of the sinful man, the lust of his eyes, the boasting of what he has or does. These are misplaced physical, material, and psychological desires, trying to get our needs met somewhere besides with God.

Eve was tempted by Satan to EAT the apple, as was Adam. Both gave in, and the world became a meaner, sadder place. Jesus was tempted by Satan and resisted, and we were saved. We still suffer, but ultimately – we are saved.

The book includes personal reflections that I’m going to try to write here as part of my spiritual exercise…

First: What does my craving look like? I found a picture online that IS my sugar demon. Its body contains everything that tempts me in my weakest emotional moments – from loneliness to celebration to the desire for reward. It zaps me then dances in glee that it has defeated me once again. When I defeat it, it goes into a corner and sulks, and plots how it will win the next time.

If I could sit down and have a conversation with it, I would say, “Leave me alone! I know where you come from, and I don’t want you in my life anymore. Go away!!” It probably would say to me: “You say that, but you don’t really mean it. You say I’m evil and nasty, but that’s only until you want or need me. That’s okay. Talk mean to me now. I’ll be here in the corner until next time.” I would ask it: “WHAT WOULD IT TAKE TO MAKE YOU GO AWAY FOREVER???” I’m not sure how it would respond. Maybe it would say, “I’m just the symptom of something else. Resolve that, and I’ll go away.”

Second, what do I think of the statement that God made us to crave? I agree. I think we are made to crave something higher than ourselves, something spiritual, and I think that a big part of what’s wrong with this world is that we have substituted other things – like food – in an attempt to fill that craving. Like me, it never works for long.

I have pursued that craving in a positive way. The best example of this was my decision to pursue the Catholic church. This was a tremendously positive thing for me – I went to RCIA, I went to Mass many times during the week, I prayed my Rosary regularly. That craving gave me peace and a sense of fulfillment, unlike my food cravings, which leave me ultimately empty and feeling worse than when I started.

Third, what if I believe we’re made to crave? This isn’t really news to me, as a psychologist. I know food cravings stand in for something deeper. To think that something is God gives me a couple of feelings. One a “of course” feeling and one a slightly depressed feeling – that sense that if I try to fill that with God, I’m going to fail because I’m not a “holy” person. But listening to those cravings, trying to fill them in some small way, may finally help me break free of this sugar demon.

Fourth, how have I experienced these three temptations – cravings of sinful man, lust of the eyes, and boasting – over the past day and what did I do?

Cravings of sinful man – well, this is all about food. I have inhaled sugary stuff over the last few days. I bought it, knowing how it would make me feel, and I ate it even when I didn’t really want it.

Lust of the eyes – Material things – probably the thing that springs to mind in the new Internet service and a new wireless router.

Boasting – well, I often post my workouts on Facebook and in other places. I don’t think I do this for praise, but more for reinforcement, but that’s something I’ll have to look at.

The food thing is the most difficult for me to resist right now, without a doubt, though the others are a close second and third.

Finally, using Scripture to defeat temptation. I can’t say that I’ve done this on a regular basis, because I’m not familiar enough with scripture. I am partially excited about using this as a method to address my unhealthy eating, and partially apprehensive. I’m not a big Bible scholar, and I tend to be an auditory and interactive learner/seeker. But I’m hoping this book will guide me, and by doing some entries here and in other settings, will help reinforce this for me – without succumbing to the Boasting temptation, LOL.

Here we go! I hope! I pray!

Lord Jesus, please help me to look this temptation in the eye and shoo this sugar demon away once and for all. I admit that if I try to do this on my own, I may experience temporary victory, but in the long run, the only thing that will satisfy me is your love and embrace. Help me to take and MAKE the time to use the tools you offer, and your love, to take on this difficult challenge. Help me hang in there when it gets tough and turn to you, and be humble in the face of the temptation. Help me to not put sugar ahead of the things that really matter in my life. Thank you for all the gifts you give me. Amen

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Five miles. FIVE. MILES!

And the blessings just keep on coming.

This Saturday, I took part in the annual St. Louis St. Patrick’s Day Parade Run.

As late as Friday night, I really didn’t want to go. I don’t run regularly – I mean, I do for Crossfit, because good cardio is a part of the routine. I run 200 meters for a warm-up, a couple of miles (separated by a good chunk of bodyweight exercises) in a WOD, and one time I ran two miles, rested for a few minutes, then ran two more.

Though I don’t run regularly, running for me right now is kind of a miracle. When I first started Crossfit, I also was in physical therapy for a bad back. The therapist told me, “You probably should quit Crossfit. Or at least, no box jumps, running, or anything else high impact.” And I admit, doing those things did seem to make things worse.

But the idea of quitting Crossfit? As the man in “The Princess Bride” said: “Incontheivable!”

So I did something daring and radical: I quit physical therapy instead. And started going to a chiropractor. One who Crossfits. And who, with his wife who also Crossfits, believes in a holistic lifestyle – spiritual, emotional, physical. The whole thing.

My back began to feel better. And I began to run. And run.

Now it’s true that on those days when we run a lot, or when the WOD includes deadlifts AND running or deadlifts AND box jumps or any combination of the above, I spend most of the evening with my ice pack, Minimasseuse, and Biofreeze. But it’s worth the extra effort, to keep achieving those goals.

But anyway…back to the St. Patty’s Day race – remember that? The reason why I called you here in the first place? Like I said, I thought about not going. I thought about it a lot. Though several of us from Parkland Crossfit were planning to go, I thought I probably wouldn’t see many of them once the race started – I can run, but I’m not the fastest cheetah in the coalition (yep, that’s what it’s called – I looked it up). It’s rough enough being at the rear of a WOD pack of 12 – did I really want to see over 10,000 backs in front of me?? With strangers?

On top of that, I would have to get up at 4:30 to get there in time. AND drive into the evil city. AND try to find a parking place. AND try to find the rest of the PCF’ers before I lost them in the crowd.

Not to mention that my running bib never arrived in the mail. It was like a sign or something.

But Friday night, my friend Shara and I were texting…and while we were discussing the run (I refuse to say “race” to maintain my denial), she suggested that I meet her in Arnold so we could drive in together.

With that, the fun quotient went up and the fear quotient went down a bit.

The getting up sucked, it’s true. But it just got better after that! First I got to go to Dierberg’s and have this amazing breakfast bar that I’ll have to find again. And as I wandered around the store, I thought, “Can’t wait for the race to be over so I can eat some ice cream and not feel guilty about it” (Yeah, the food thing is a whole ‘nother blog).

Shara and Chris arrived, and thank goodness Shara had seen the latest weather forecast, because I was wearing knee britches (compression pants), my Fearless Workout Crew t-shirt, and a sweatshirt, with plans to ditch the sweatshirt before the race. But Shara announced when she arrived that the temperature – which was a lovely 60 degrees at that point – was going to drop to 46 before the race.

Back to the back of the car. Digging through my massive workout bag. Finding a long-sleeved shirt to put under the tee – the right color to match the bright yellow shirt, the right material so I wouldn’t either freeze or sweat to death once the race started. Gloves or not?? Shara graciously provided an ear cover and a pair of cheeky green and while knee socks…and off we went!

Chris was the perfect navigator – he’s apparently been downtown a lot, and he knew exactly where to park. The garage wasn’t a block from the registration tent, so once I (finally!) got my bib and my t-shirt, we could take the shirts back to the van.

So here we are…all St. Patty’d up:

Levi Chris Shara and Me before the race

We pinned on our bibs. We stretched. We went to the bathroom about twenty times. We found the rest of the Fearless Workout crew – some of them in kilts:

Kenny Kilt

Adam Kilt

We took a bunch of group pictures…most of them were kinda dark because where was the sun? Apparently it started celebrating the holiday extra early and was sleeping in. And the one nice bright one? Well, I was off looking for a PortaPotty without a line with my friend Donna…who found one…that turned out to be for the race officials. OOPS! But hey, I got to go to the bathroom one last time before the race started.

As the time of the race drew near, the crowd got thicker and packed closer. I set my phone into Airplane Mode so the battery wouldn’t die before the end of the race, and chose Ron’s Songs as my running playlist. Over the sound of the chatter, we barely heard the countdown to the start…but suddenly the pack began to move. Slowly. My feet barely left the ground, but gradually we shuffled our way to the starting line, and at last the crowd began to spread out.

As predicted, I pretty quickly lost the rest of the Fearless Workout Crew, though I managed to keep Donna in sight most of the way.

The race itself is something of a blur. I mostly focused on my music, not stepping into potholes, steering around some people, trying to stay out of others’ way. The first mile went by surprisingly quickly…and I felt very good. The second mile…felt very comfortable too.

Then…the course began to go up. And up. Not a steep up…a gradual one, but one that just seemed to go up and up and up and up…My right hip and Achilles’ tendon began to talk to me. Before the race, I had thought I would run two miles, walk one, then run the last two, so I decided to slow down and walk.

That lasted about half a block.

I won’t deny that the walking was infinitely easier than the running. It was easier to breathe and to move.

But I clearly wasn’t going to burn up the Parkland Crossfit roster, so I made a decision: my new goal was to run. And keep running. Until I ran it all.

The. Whole. Darn. Thing.

So I picked up my feet and my pace.

I passed people. People passed me. Someone swatted me on the butt, and Shannon, Adam and Erin waved by – surprising since I thought they had pulled away from me long before!

Mile three passed and I thought with a little thrill: “I think I can do this!”

My hip still hurt. I ran on my heels a little in an attempt to alleviate the pain in my Achilles, but that made my knees unhappy.

I kept going.

Mile 4 finally came…and then…there was another hill. I thought, “Really? A hill in the last mile? How cruel is that?”

I put my head down. I kept going.

Where was the darned finish line?

We turned a corner. The announcer was going nuts, saying something about this turn, one more lap, run towards the Arch. I looked up, saw the Arch, still saw the sea of shirts in front of me. My heart sank…still so far.

And then, suddenly, there it was! There was no banner, just a time clock and a plastic thingie under my feet that I figured was the device noting my time. There were two of them, one after the other…

I stopped, I walked. My calves hurt. My hip hurt. I found more of the yellow shirts that made the Fearless Workout Crew stand out from the rest of the grey or green clad crowd. I bumped fists. I beamed.


Note to self: next time, take the headband off and the scrunchy OUT. Post-race hair is not my best look.

Shara and Me after the Race

This is me and my friend Shara after the race. She was wise enough to take off her hat beforehand. She looks wonderful. I still have post-race hair, LOL…only now the headband covers most of it…

I was sure the time clock said 53:54 when I crossed the finish line. As my peers received texts informing them of their official time, I checked mine obsessively, then resigned myself to the fact that I probably wouldn’t get one, since my original bib had never arrived. I thought, though, that since it had taken us about five minutes to get to the starting line, that my time would be around 48-49 minutes.

When I got my results later that day, I was a bit disappointed, I must admit: my official time was 50:23. However, I finished in the top half overall, the top third of women, and the top fifth of women my age.

But then I just kept saying to myself: “I DID IT!!!!!!” I ran a FIVE MILE RACE. I’ve never done that. The last time I ran a 5K (about 3.5 miles), I was in my twenties, I think. I ran six miles once and could barely walk the next day. True, we’d run some distance in Crossfit, but the most I’d run at one time was two miles.

I still can’t believe it. I’m overwhelmed with happiness and gratitude…to my coach and to God for bringing me here and getting me through.

Oh, I know it’s a relatively trivial thing. It’s a race, not the cure for the common cold. I don’t exactly have a wall full of medals proclaiming me the queen of runners, even of 50-year-old runners.

But it actually wasn’t bad. In fact, it was kind of gloriously fun. As the day went on, I just kept saying to myself in wonderment:

“I ran. FIVE MILES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” YIPPEE!

And I can’t wait to do it again!

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“10 burpees for saying I can’t”

Tonight, I surprised myself.

These League WODs have scared the heck out of me. The first two, I just did horribly. During them both, I wanted to cry. I wanted to quit, but I don’t quit. 

Tonight, we had no idea what the WOD would be until we walked in the door. I thought: “There’s bound to be one thing that I can’t do.” A part of me wanted desperately to plead sickness (I do have a horrible headcold that kept me out of the fifth WOD)…but then there was the other part, the one that said, “Don’t do that. Just go and focus on enjoying yourself and having a great time.” 

Boy, am I glad I listened to voice #2.

I got out of work as fast as I possibly could, because I couldn’t stand not knowing what the WOD was. I walked in the door, picked up the judging sheet, and felt a tremendous sinking feeling. The first round was a 65# clean and jerk.

Flashback to the second WOD: 55# push press, which for me turned into a 55# clean and jerk. It was all I could do to get the dang thing over my head for…I can’t even remember. 21 reps? I’ve never ever had a 65# clean and jerk. I’ve barely had a 65# clean!

And that was just one month ago.

I bit back tears. I tried the movement with a spare bar. I barely cleaned it. I wrung my hands. I shared my fears with everyone I could grab. I considered just sitting out the first round, since I was pretty sure I could do the other two – 50 burpees (no problem) and 21-15-9 95# deadlift (that did make me a little nervous) and hand release pushups.

In the end, my coach was also my judge. I told him, “I don’t have these…yet.” He nodded understandingly, then said: “I think you can do it” and gave me a few form pointers.

The countdown began, I addressed that bar, I cleaned it…AND I GOT IT OVER MY HEAD.

No one was more surprised than me.

And then I did it again. And again. And AGAIN. 12 times. And if I’d had another minute, I probably could have made it to lucky 13.

I was thrilled and a little embarrassed. Once again, I’d said and thought, “I can’t.” And once again, I was wrong. When will I learn to stop underestimating myself and have a little faith?

This reminded me of when I was in school, and I’d come out of a test and tell everyone, “I think I failed.” And then I would get an A. It almost became a superstitious ritual – if I said I failed, then I would do okay. Understandably, people got sick of it.

All I could say once that WOD was over, was “thank you, God, thank you, Jesus, thank you, God.” And thank you, coach Kenny, for helping me get stronger every day, every week, every month. And to my fellow Crossfitters, I promise I’m going to try not to go back down that superstitious path again.

My back is a little sore, which I expected after the deadlifts (also a heavier weight than I’ve ever used in a WOD), but I drove home on air.

I just have no more words. Those who know me know how special and rare that is. 

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Wedding Dress Sentimentality

This weekend, we looked at everything piled on our dining room table and agreed:

“It’s time to clean out some things.”

We went through old mail, old church bulletins, old newspapers. Some of the things are nestled there temporarily, waiting for the work on the house to be done before they can settle in their old/new home – be it a closet, cabinet, or breakfront. We love our house, but we are in a constant struggle for storage space of all kinds.

There is one item on the table, however, that I’m having a surprisingly hard time letting go. I bought it nearly two years ago. I’ve worn it once, tried it on a dozen times. It is a symbol of the most cherished day of my life to date.

It’s my wedding dress.

My best friend and matron of honor, Janine, and I found the dress on a day in November. I’d originally selected a different dress, but no one had it in stock, and I would have had to order it sight unseen, without trying it on, and without the option of returning it if it didn’t look right. That made me incredibly anxious, so I thought I would see what else I could find.

It was between two dresses. One was by the same designer as the original dress I liked, but was white and looked like something a ballerina would wear. The other was the dress I eventually would choose. I tried them both on a couple of times. They both looked beautiful. I went back and forth. We decided to take a break and look at dresses for Janine instead, hoping the distance would help me decide.

Then, as we were looking at dresses for Janine, I kept referring to this element or that which was “just like mine.” Janine looked at me and said, “You’ve made up your mind.”

I went back. I put the dress on again. The sales woman tucked up my hair and put a veil on my head, and suddenly, I could see myself walking down the aisle toward Ron in my dress.

I began to cry.

Just like in “Say Yes to the Dress.”

Wedding Dress The Day I found it

Now, this was nearly a year before my wedding. I had doubts and wondered if I should have gotten the first dress that I liked. I began to fret that I hadn’t spent enough time looking, enough time trying on, that I’d missed out on a crucial part of that whole pre-wedding ritual.

So I went to visit it. And I took a dozen pictures of it, and the veil, and I fell in love with it all over again.

Dress on Its Own

But I was worried that the reason why I had doubts about the dress had less to do with the dress and more to do with me and the weight I’d picked up. I did what every woman does while she’s getting ready for her wedding. I dieted, I worked out (I didn’t know about Crossfit at the time – oh, if I had!), but mostly I worried. But three months before the wedding, I tried it on again, in preparation for alterations. And I was so much happier with how it looked!

Dress July 29 2011

The alterations, however, were less than ideal. I won’t go into all the gory details, but suffice to say that the shop was not happy about having to do two rounds of alterations…and I was not happy with the results after the second round. Thank God for a friend’s friend, who agreed to alter the dress a final time until it actually fit me…and didn’t have gigantic seams that completely ruined the line.

Finally, I had the dress of my dreams…for the day of my dreams…when I married the man of my dreams.

Wedding Day

Even before the wedding, I had determined that I would not be one of those women who held onto their dress, who spent hundreds of dollars to restore or preserve it, when they had no daughter to pass it down to. And there was that storage thing that I mentioned way back at the beginning of this post. So I did a search, and I found two places where I donate the dress. And I decided that was what I was going to do.

Sensible, right? Logical. Altruistic.

Harder than I thought.

Here it is, a year later, and my dress has been sitting on our dining room table with other items from our loft. After weeks of shifting it so we can find mail and books and chargers for the cell phones, I had to face the fact that it was time for my dress to find its new home.

So today I went online and decided the charity to which I will donate my dress. I downloaded the form. I called UPS for an estimate of how much it would cost to ship it.

Then I took it out of the pink plastic where it has been sleeping for the last sixteen months.

I spread it out and I ran my hands over the pickups and the beads. I remembered the joy I felt when I put it on that magical day in October 2011, and how we laughed when it took my sister-in-law, my cousin, and Janine to put the hoop skirt slip underneath it, because we couldn’t slip it on over my head once my hair was done.

Having fun with the dress

I admit it – I put it on. And it fits – thank you, Crossfit, for helping me take off the weight I regained once the wedding was over! And I walked around it and felt it swish. I unbustled it and admired the beautiful train. I tried to take pictures of myself in it, but couldn’t quite do it justice…until my groom showed perfect timing by coming home. There’s no doubt he was surprised – who wouldn’t be, to find your wife in her wedding dress over a year after the wedding – but the look on his face was close to that tender, loving look from our first look. And he indulged me by taking one last picture of me on the deck, in my glorious dress that made me feel like a princess.

Wedding dress February 2013

By the end of this week, the dress will be tucked into a box and headed to Brides Against Breast Cancer. A bride who may not otherwise be able to afford a dress may try it on and cry as I did, and dream of her special, magical time, and feel that indescribable bursting joy on her wedding day. And maybe she will continue to pay it forward…and oh, the stories the dress eventually will tell, from my happy ending at the ripe age of 49, to…who knows?

So farewell, beautiful dress. Thank you for being part of incredible memories, for making me feel like a BRIDE, and for enticing that misty look to my husband’s face, on our wedding day and today when I tried the dress on one last time.

My prayer is that you will bring that same delight to your new bride…and that I will try every moment to make my marriage as beautiful and blessed as our wedding day.

Posted in Being a Good Wife, General Thoughts | 2 Comments

Paleo Challenge and League Almost Over – And A Triumph!


It’s Day 28 of the Paleo Challenge at our gym. It’s Day 6 of Lent. I think I’m probably strict-ish paleo, but not Whole30 because my chocolate avocado pudding has vanilla in it, which has a teensy bit of alcohol. At any rate, the food has been going pretty well since Lent started.

This challenge has felt different than the last one. Maybe because I’ve actually seen some results, even though I’ve had five cheat days. The last one, I just gave up at the end and didn’t even get my “after” weights and measures. I’ll do it this time, even if there isn’t much change! Just a few more days…then I admit, I’m going to indulge a little.

The last two League WODs have been a nice break from the frustration and…well, embarrassment…of the first two. In fact, I went from 47th in the 2nd WOD to 20th in the 3rd one! Five rounds of 20 burpees and 20 kettlebell swings may not sound like fun, but I was just grateful it was something I could do. That was a nice boost. And WOD 4 was a team WOD, but it was still mostly moves I could do – 12# wallballs and singleunders. There were banded pullups too, but I didn’t have those then, so my great teammate Betsy did ’em. We did okay!

I can’t decide how I feel about the League. It’s been challenging, without a doubt. It was nice to have a couple of weeks with WODs I could do. I’m scared to death of the last two. I’ve been scared to death the whole time. But I guess, as I said, that that’s exactly why I did it…because I was scared. On the other hand, I’m going to be very glad when it’s over.

The last two workouts have been encouraging, though! On Saturday, my friend Melissa had a WOD at her gym, and she gave me some great tips about getting my hands closer to the wall on handstand pushups. I was able to get a good handstand and even a teensy tiny flex and straighten. Happy!

And tonight! Well, tonight, I went in determined…determined to at least get closer to banded pullups.

And to keep it simple: I GOT ‘EM!

Banded Pullups 2-18-13

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Being Last

Two Thursdays ago, I completed WOD 1 for our Crossfit League. It was a snatch ladder. The first rung on the ladder was 35 pounds, 30 reps. No problem. Turned those out in no time at all.

Second rung: 55 pounds. No…way. And believe me, I tried. And tried. And tried. My judge gave me a thousand cues. My friends gave me cues. And I tried. But that bar did not go above my head.

My score for the WOD: 30. My ranking after that WOD: last.

Last Thursday I completed WOD 2. It involved 15 box step-ups onto a 20″ box (no problem) and 9 situps…again, no problem.

It was the middle move…12 55 pound push presses…that were the rut in the road for me. My push press one rep max is 65 pounds. From a rack. And I did it, oh, about a month ago. I thought I could. And I could. But it took me a lot of attempts and a lot of time, so I made it through all of two rounds and a little bit.

My score for the WOD: 94. My ranking after both WODs: last.

Most of the time, I’m okay with it. I’m 50. I’ve only been Crossfitting 7 months. I have a tricky back which makes my hips a little less powerful than I’d like them to be. I go to the gym 3 times a week. I love it, but I’m far from the best at it.

Some moments, I gotta be honest with you…it stings a little. When I saw my name at the bottom of the sheet after that second WOD, I had a moment of self-pity: “Well, it’s official! I’m the worst Crossfitter in the league…at my gym…no, I’M THE WORST CROSSFITTER EVER!!!”

And maybe it’s true. But you know what? Who cares. I get out there and up there and I give it my all. I cheer on my friends, who are doing AWESOME in the league. I cheer on my gym, which is doing AWESOME in the league! And I have a great, great, great time.

And here’s why:


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Day 5 Done…Not Without Bumps In the Road

Well. I’ve made it through five days of my Whole30.

How do I feel right now? Partially pleased, and partially disappointed.

I’m pleased because I’ve made it through five days. It hasn’t been easy. I’ve been tired and exceptionally weepy, cranky, and short-tempered. But I’ve done it without slipping – even tonight, when I was so tempted to buy some ice cream.

Day 1 was a Big Deal.
I made it through the Hangover of day 2 and 3, but Day 3 of the Hangover was combined with Kill All Things (my poor husband).


For some reason, I am experiencing more inflammation than I usually do at this point. I don’t know if that’s because I ate so horribly for a couple of months and my body really isn’t recovering the way it should. My back isn’t as flexible as I wanted it to be at this point, and I don’t seem to have lost any weight – in fact, I feel really bloaty.

That’s depressing.

I think it’s probably because I made a quiche last weekend and that’s what I’ve been eating all week for breakfast. That’s not my typical breakfast…I usually eat a lot more meat and only have eggs for breakfast on the weekend. So I’m hoping that the inflammation is because of that and will eventually dissipate.

Onward and upward!

This week, I’m making:
Chorizo quiche (freezing for the future)
Whole9 guacamole
Squash and venison chili
Chicken apple hash (going to try to use the grinder on my mixer, LOL)
Chicken salad

Praying I see more results next week!

Praying for Tyler and all the families of babies and kids struggling through the nightmare of cancer…

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