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Daze of My Life: Digest This
Daze of My Life
I ate my first soy meatball last night, unintentional though it may have been. And here I am, 16 hours later, approximately, with no residual effects. And by residual effects I mean (A) not experiencing any stomach/intestinal-type difficulties or (B) not having any interest whatsoever in going out to the supermarket this afternoon and intentionally buying some soy products myself and patty caking them into hamburgers or shaping them into meatballs.
And though I can certainly appreciate the benefit of eating pure protein rather than the filets, sirloins and other meat products with which I am so familiar (and accustomed), still, my first soy ingestion was indeed memorable. Not so much for any consequences per se but, more for the embarrassment, as in my not realizing until after I had already individually cradled six-what-looked-exactly-like meatballs into my Tostitos Scoops and washed them down with my rum and mostly Coke, that I had joyfully consumed soyballs instead.
Maybe my after-the-food-had-already-been-eaten comments that night were merely the ranting of a hungry and desperate party guest. Not that my longtime friend, Cheryl, and her Open House invitees had not brought more than enough food, they most definitely had; it's more that the food provided was not exactly my cup of tea, and I don't even drink tea. It's just that this crowd, except for a minority few, me mostly, were health and fitness people, dedicated to their routines and commitments: biking, running, spinning, lifting weights, early to bed, early to rise, eating right/eating healthy, moderate alcohol, etc.
And as former WMAL Sports Talk host, Ken Beatrice, used to say, "God love 'em," but...
Now what I'm about to say is not a reflection on anybody but me. I didn't (I don't) have too much in common with these guests, either in what I do with my body or in what I put into it. The double chocolate homemade brownies I baked for the party sat alone and mostly ignored on the far right corner of Cheryl's dining room sideboard (In fairness, the dining room table was already completely covered with food by the time my brownies were positioned.) as if they were full of some kind of contagion. Well, I have news for you and them: sugar, flour, vanilla, baking powder, eggs, butter and Nestle's Semi Sweet Morsels, baked at 325 degrees for 20 minutes is not the least bit contagious. Addictive maybe, but hardly life threatening or so I've been lead to believe or maybe that's hope.
Nevertheless, in listening to some of the learned opinions of the healthier-and-fitter-than-I types in attendance that evening, my presumptions and predilections, given my age, my height and my over-weight (I won't mention my cholesterol level, if you won't) may be a bit presumptuous, shall we say.
Certainly I'm not getting any younger (who is?) and my metabolism is not getting any faster. Nor is my on-the-job stress or off-the-job fatigue likely to impact somebody other than you know who. Still, it seems to me that depriving myself of the things I love (and maybe even need, or is it crave?) is no way to right this ship. I realize I may be listing, especially because of what's stored in the cargo hold but, I'm not sunk, yet. An ocean liner doesn't exactly turn on a dime and neither do I.
Kenneth B. Lourie is a regionally syndicated columnist who resides in Burtonsville, MD.
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