I am spoiled.
Goddess sure puts up with me. Even when I say silly things. She tolerates my training and racing, although she will shake her head at times and tell me that I’m nuts.
To some, I’m sure.
The most impressive thing has been her support of my eating habits. She’s actually adapted quite a bit and makes wonderful treats like these Flourless Chocolate Muffins for me.
Both concepts were something that I had been doing a lot of research on for quite a while. As Goddess can attest to, if I get interested in something, I research the hell out of it. Mostly to satisfy my curiosity.
Because I am a sponge.
Initially I poo-pooed both as concepts that were capitalizing on the Adkins fad. And that was one thing I stayed the hell away from. I saw many friends and co-workers jump on that bandwagon and do some pretty rough things to their bodies that they did not understand, all while eating crap and claiming that all carbs were evil.
And that was one belief that I fought violently. I knew, and still know, that carbs are not evil. Matter of fact, we need them.
But a dog got me to look more closely at the carbs that I was eating.
Yep, a dog.
Growing up racing in the ‘80s and through the ‘90s, carbs were king. Racing track, cross-country, bikes and building up to ultra-marathon bike races in the late ‘90s were a great excuse for me to inhale carbs. The more the merrier. Pile them high, pile them thick. Matter of fact, I swore that I was an Italian in a previous life.
And no matter how active I was, the waistband kept expanding. I got pretty thick, but could still ride hard and ride long. Unfortunately, with the added girth, any time the road tilted upwards, I’d get dropped. But on the flats, I was a locomotive that the teams would love to jump behind as I’d drag them across the countryside. So I made sure that I kept the engine stoked. But I was failing at simple math, so I was easily taking in more than I was burning.
Once I figured out the math, I worked on that. So it dropped off quite nicely. But even though I tracked everything as closely as possible, I still was softer than I needed to be. Even in 2007 when I was training for my IM-distance race, I dropped a fair bit, but just couldn’t get below 190lbs. I didn’t worry about that though, figuring that 190lbs was my body’s comfortable “floor”.
But then the dog came in.
In late 2007, we started looking at rescuing a retired greyhound. While we were waiting to be approved and waiting for a dog that would adopt us, I did a lot of research on feed, especially after the dog food contamination scare of 2007. One thing that I kept returning to was the concept of feeding raw or biologically appropriate raw food (BARF for short). Basically the idea is to feed the same foods that the animals ancestors ate, instead of the processed food with additives and chemicals. It made perfect sense to me.
So we discussed with one of the ladies that fosters and helps place the retired greyhounds in homes. She was extremely supportive, especially since she feeds her dogs the same way. The resident veterinarian for the group was there as well and she was supportive. That vet support is something that we’ve found to be rare.
So when Skinny adopted us late last January, we started easing him in to a raw diet. The pooch took to it immediately. And as I’d stand there, holding a chicken leg quarter while feeling him crunch his way through the bones and flesh, it got me to thinking about the foods that I ate.
<…to be continued…>