Balance, paused

I hit a wall just now: I think I've done what I need to do. What should I do now? There's always something, isn't there?

I want to talk about balance in eating, but not in other areas of life--is that okay?

Fat free X: this doesn't mean anything. If you eat something and are happy that you have chosen the 'fat free' option, you haven't done anything worth noting. Nothing healthy. I realised this: we take all these bits of information from the media about health and then piece them together in the most dangerous ways. 'Healthy' is such a silly adjective to put before a food. 'Healthy' doesn't exist without context. Fat, for example, is not bad. 25% of your diet needs to be comprised of fat. If you are overeating, your body will store fat as fat easier than carbs or protein, granted, but that's only if you're overeating. If you have a caloric deficit or you are eating what you need to survive, you will not store that fat as fat. It will sit in your stomach for hours and hours, and you'll feel full.

I went to the supermarket, looking at some of the 'healthy', diet food they have. It's all just smaller portions of crappy stuff you don't need in your body. Just, carbs. Shitloads of carbs. Want to lose weight? What you need to do is never going to change: you need to eat less than what you put out. You don't need healthier snacks.

So I've been on my quest to get that balance I want 50% carbs, 25% protein, 25% fat. And if I eat that, I feel great: the trick is that 25% protein is really hard to get. You don't do it naturally with a Western diet. I've said this.

Everything else? I'm not sure. It's a mess right now, but I keep saying the same things to the same people. No one needs to listen any more--I can blog about it.

Show me the place where you want your slave to go, Leonard Cohen sings to his lover, to god, to the cosmos. I'm singing the same thing.

I'm sorry I did this: On the ride home yesterday, some kids were coming the other way and one of them, the kind of kid that will be in prison in three years, shouts out something at me. I don't look, just flip him the bird, and he gets livid, but I'm on my bike going the other way, although I want to stop and confront him.

This is when you start to lose control: January, sick, crying children everywhere, research stalled, job search stalled.

Show me the place, Cohen then sings, help me roll away the stone. Show me the place, I can't do it alone, the women harmonising behind him.

February will be here soon enough, 'eh?