Friday, August 2, 2013

Snap, Crackle and Puff

Wheat and I have a love/hate relationship. I love stuff made with it - my body hates stuff made with it. When I eat it, no matter what time of day, the results don't show up until the next morning. That's when I need to call Hire a Crane to get me out of bed. My lower back feels like I've been lifting grain sacks and throwing them straight at my face. Pain and puff, my morning buddies.

I am usually pretty good about staying away from wheat products, even though I'm married to a bread lover who thrives on the stuff. So when we start off a vacation in Europe, I begin with my typical routine of no wheat - not even a bite. But come on, it's Europe, bread is king. So I start to nibble here and there. Next morning? No pain, no puff. The nibbling becomes actual bites. Then I throw all caution to the wind and become a bread eating fool. No pain, no puff. Just a regular person getting out of bed in the morning. Amazing. Gooooood Morning Europe.

Is it the vacation effect? The relaxation of no worries, no housework, no work period, no cooking, no errands, no running to Trader Joes for the third time in one day and still forgetting something? Maybe. But Romania was not without stress - this was no umbrella cocktails on the beach type vacation. But the bread was oh so yummy and I enjoyed it with no ill effects. I think it's something else. Do I really suffer from the dreaded leaky gut syndrome? Can't they come up with a better term than leaky gut? Where does one buy some Plug-a-Gut? What do they do with American wheat?

Bread with breakfast and lunch and pizza for dinner - with no Puff Mama Syndrome. 

Back a week now from Romania and Ireland, I'm trying to get back to the realities of my Don't Even Touch the Stuff life. Then came three days of proctoring the Bar Exam while getting over jet lag. I did OK the first two days. Then came day three. No time to make a smoothie at 5:30 am, so I toasted an English muffin. Oh, the smell of toast, a pure joy. Off to the convention center to get through one last long day. The bookroom always treats the proctors to donuts on the last day. Donuts are not my thing, I can easily walk away from those big pink boxes of flour, fat and sugar. But this year Anna brought homemade ginger spice cookies. I had two. OK, maybe it was two and a half. Plus a handful of Myra's dill Triscuits.

1 English muffin + 2ish ginger spice cookies + handful of Triscuits = Pain and Puff in the AM

I guess I have some choices here:

  • Move to Europe.
  • Live life with morning back pain and inflammation.
  • Get used to pure gluten-free rye bread. (Hack, hack.)
  • Muster the self-control to stop eating American wheat. 

Why do the best choices always involve self-control?