The Phatness

Never have I denied that I. Love. Food. The streets of heaven are not paved in gold, folks, they are paved with bacon-wrapped cheese curds with Raisinette sprinkles and a shoulder made out of warm peach pie. The rivers in heaven rush with chocolate syrup-infused Coca-Cola. The skies precipitate fluffy popcorn with movie theater butter and mocha latte frappe rain drops. And the cherry Jell-O is so good in heaven, even the horses love it.
But back on Earth... There are consequences to living the lifestyle of the fried and the sugary. I am realizing the importance of not sending this body to my glucose-laden heaven too quickly. The whole sad truth of the situation is that people of my generation and younger will be the first group of people who will simply not live as long of a life as our parents. Like, uh... Considering my parents' environments in which they were raised, that is a pretty drastic statement. For my parents' generation, smoking really was cool. Like, super-cool. Like, I dare you to find a man today who looks as attractive in a pair of dirty pants as the Marlboro Man did. My parents' generation were raised pre-Nancy Reagan's “Just Say No” campaign, which most of us admittedly outwardly mock, but probably secretly are appreciative for. My parents' generation were not born into a culture that was seriously conscious about things like AIDS and other communicable diseases. They have lived through more wars. They thought mercury was a fun thing to play with, you know, with their bare hands. And as children, they gleefully ran behind the pesticide-spraying vehicles.
And they are expected to live longer lifespans than my generation. My generation: the supposed organic food-pushing, McDonald's bashing, gym class advocating, D.A.R.E. students are not projected to live as long as our parents. Because of what we do and don't do to our bodies. That is completely horrifying to me.
I'm not saying that it's completely our fault, although most of it probably is. The things they do to our food before the grocers even see it is quite simply one of the most terrifying subjects I have ever been made aware of. Padre is probably rolling his eyes right about here. He tends to write off most conspiracy theories as coming from either hippies or people who wear tin foil hats to keep the government out of their thoughts. But I subscribe wholeheartedly. Not to the tin foil hat part, but the part about our food being progressively less good for us. I believe it, because people are in a position to make money. The processes our food goes through is a problem that needs to find a solution. I use a passive sentence here, because I am not sure how to fix this problem. The politics of food processing is far beyond my intellect.
The only way I can conceive is to express my hope for healthier foods by means of boycott. It is my new goal that every week, I am going to eliminate one unhealthy thing out of my diet. Right about here I should reiterate my compassion for a world made out bacon. I have no desire to become that emaciated girl at the party who stinks like garlic and clove oil and hasn't eaten anything besides her personal garden's asparagus since 1994.
I don't want to be that person, no. But I don't want to be a statistic either. I don't want to develop some horrible ailment that will affect my whole life. Eating the wrong things and living what those pesky gym teachers refer to as a “sedentary lifestyle” has made me feel less than what I can. I am not just talking about adverse affects on my appearance and self-esteem either. Yes, my body type has kept me out of a sting bikini thus far, but there is no reason for me to be walking around with a burlap sack over my head. I have good physical attributes: a pretty symmetrical face, decent hygiene and let's just say that I've never had any trouble holding up a tube top. But I want to feel better. I want my body to work better. I want to be able to survive this zombie apocalypse my friends keep talking about.
So, I am sitting here typing. Drinking my very last chocolate syrup-infused Coca-Cola (until I get to heaven). This week I am forever giving up all soda except for club. Next week, red meat. :( I'm sure there will be times I fall off the wagon. Hopefully the wagon is something I can get back on with ease, knowing that the wagon drives on roads not yet made of bacon.