My Frenemy, Salt.
Yes, you read that right, salt is my frenemy. Why? Because as much as I love a salty snack, a frozen pizza or a meal out at a Chinese restaurant, I can’t always partake of the things I love because of, yes, you guessed it, salt. So why I love salt (my friend) it definitely does NOT love me back (my enemy). It wasn’t always like this for me, I used to blithely eat any and all the sodium heavy foods my heart desired without a thought or problem, but then something changed. All of a sudden, or so it seemed, I just could not tolerate high sodium foods anymore. Not because of high blood pressure or any other health concern, but because if I eat high sodium foods, I turn into the Stay-Puft Marshmallow woman. No, really, I do! Every part of me swells up and I am miserable.
What happened? I really don’t know why this happened, but I do know when it happened. I was in my late twenties and one evening I picked up to go food from one of my favorite Chinese restaurants, Wok Fast. Kung Pao vegetables, egg rolls with plum sauce AND spicy mustard and an order of Chow Mein noodles. Now, this was a meal I had eaten many times before without incident, but this time, oh boy! Exactly twenty minutes into the meal I started to feel my rings getting tighter. I didn’t think much about it and kept eating. At thirty minutes, my eyes felt funny. Did it stop me? Hell no! I finished the meal and went to bed. What greeted me in the mirror the next morning was a monster. Eyes nearly swollen shut, hands so swollen that my rings were literally cutting into my fingers and my ankles were twice their normal size. I thought I was having a horrible allergic reaction and hid in my apartment the entire day. By the next morning I was fine and didn’t think about it until it happened again.
The next time it happened I was at a friend’s house. It was New Year’s Day and we were hanging out and eating. We had sub sandwiches, frozen pizza, dips, chips and more. About halfway through the day, I felt a disturbingly familiar tightening of my rings. I ignored it and continued to eat. Bad idea. An hour later my feet were so swollen that I had to remove my shoes and my friend said, “Oh my God! Go look at your eyes!” Yes, my eyes were swelling! I freaked out, borrowed a pair of her shoes (3 sizes bigger than mine, but with my feet so swollen, they fit!) and drove home. Just like before, I woke up a swollen monster. Yet still, I did not put it together.
The third time it happened, the swelling was even worse and came on even faster. I was eating a frozen dinner at home and when I began swelling, I stopped. I went and got the box out of the trash and read the ingredients, hoping something would pop out at me so I could solve the mystery of the big bloat. That was when the sodium content caught my eye. 2,400 milligrams of sodium! What?! And from that I put it together. It was no allergy, it was salt.
Did I immediately modify my diet? Yes and no. I would for a while, but then I would think that I could just eat a little of this or a bite of that and wham! I would swell up. Think about how you would look if someone pumped helium through your body and stretched your skin from your head to your toes. Yes, that is what happened to me. Every time I strayed. After about the third time (yes, I’m stubborn), I no longer strayed.
Today I avoid all the foods I KNOW will be high in salt and read labels. My husband has the same sensitivity, so we will watch food programs together, drool over the foods we can’t eat and make comments like, “If we ate that our eyes would swell shut.” Or, ” It looks so good, but if we ate it, we couldn’t leave the house for two days because we would be so bloated that we would frighten small children and animals.” I still don’t know why I suddenly became so sensitive to salt. I DO still salt my food. I use sea salt, lite salt and kosher salt. I normally refrain from adding salt when I cook and wait to salt right before I eat (this is the salt your tongue immediately picks up). This way I can still get my salt fix, without the consequences. But I still dream of the day when I can march into a Chinese restaurant, order anything I want, eat and leave without having to remove my shoes because my feet are so swollen they no longer fit in my shoes … Sigh. A girl can dream.
Shut Up & Hand Me Some Fries! The Joys of PMS
Hey ladies (always wanted to say that)! If you are like me, once a month, for about five days, you turn into an emotional, angry, eating machine. Also known as PMS. If you are a woman who is lucky enough not to suffer from this, then God bless you and really, I don’t want to hear how your periods, and the days before, are no different for you than any other time of the month. Especially, when I am in full PMS mode. You know, bloated, tender swollen breasts and ready to kill or cry at a moments notice. Well, because, you, my non-affected friend, may be the subject of my wrath. And that would make me feel bad… In a few days, when I am thinking clearly again. So, in case you haven’t guessed this blog will be all about PMS and the foods that can, temporarily at least, make things a LITTLE better. And men, if you are reading this, good. You may get some insight into what we woman go through on a monthly basis.
When I am PMS I feel like I could eat the world. Literally. Just season it with a little salt and I am ready. My hunger has no bounds. And what am I hungry for? Grease, salt and sugar. Can’t get enough of the stuff. In my youth, silly girl that I was, I used to try to fight and deny this hunger. What happened? I became nearly homicidal and realized it was better to have those french fries than to lose three friends and ostracize my partner every month. Now, I eat. And eat a lot. Days of nothing but fries, pizza and See’s chocolates. Nights in front of the television weeping over a Lifetime “Woman in Peril” movie stuffing my face with grilled cheese sandwiches. Yes, sandwiches, the plurality is NOT a typo. I can quickly move from weeping woman to angry bitch. Then it is me ranting at the, fill in the blank, _______________ (television, car in front of me, cats, husband, moon…). All the while I am ranting, I am shoving into my mouth potato chips and red vines. Ugh! No, I am not proud, just honest. It is during these angry times that I feel like the Stay-Puff marshmallow man from Ghostbusters. My bloated fingers struggling to open the bag of grated cheddar cheese, so I can make a HUGE quesadilla, while angrily mumbling about how my husband didn’t replace the empty toilet paper roll with a new one. Then, just as quickly I am crying again.
What men and those lucky ones that don’t suffer from PMS may not know, is that PMS hurts. No, not cramps like a period, but aches. Your lower back aches, your boobs hurt and your jeans are painfully cutting you in half due to the extra 5-10 pounds of water you are carrying around. Yes, you can take Midol (doesn’t do a thing for me). Or a pain reliever, sure. I drink. To be more exact, I drink red wine. What is strange is that alcohol affects me so much differently when I am in the midst of PMS. One drink and I am buzzed. Two and I am down right drunk. But, if I stick with one, it helps with the aches and can take the edge of my horrible mood. Bonus is that it goes wonderfully with the loaf of sourdough bread I am ripping apart, dipping into Boursin cheese and devouring.
Before I get a lot of advice and “help” from the professionals, let me tell you what I know. I know that exercise helps. And I exercise regularly all month. I know calcium and B vitamins help. I take those all month as well. I drink more than eight glasses of water every day. And I still suffer.
What is a woman, and those that love her, to do? I don’t know about you, but I have learned to accept those few days a month when I turn into an evil Sybil. I am quick to apologize and to warn. I now tell me husband, “I have PMS. I feel like Bloaty the Clown Woman and I REALLY can’t talk right now.” Good husband that he is, he runs from the room. I remind myself that however angry, sad and fat I feel now, I will feel better in a few days. Of course, I also stopped trying to deny my hunger and now eat. In fact, I am getting ready to get out of these jeans (I haven’t taken a deep breath since 8 this morning) and put on my baggiest sweats, eat saltines with mayonnaise until the pizza I ordered arrives and put on a Real Housewives marathon.
Where Is My Morning After Pill?
No, not the politically charged and oft debated one… What I want is a morning after pill that I could take when I have enjoyed my food a little too much. In other words, overate. I’m not talking about a slightly over-filled stomach, I mean post-holiday, “I can’t believe I have to try to button my pants” kind of overeating. Admit it, we have all had days when we couldn’t stop eating too much of a good thing. It happens, we are only human. But, imagine being able to wake up the next day and take a pill that magically removes all the bloat?!
Think about it… No more standing in your closet trying on every pair of “fat” pants you own. Never again having to opt for the drawstring pants and an over-sized shirt for work on Monday morning. The end of wondering if everybody you run into is noticing your puffy eyes and your swollen ankles. The real magic would be the restoration of comfort in your own skin. There is nothing worse than when you feel unhappy and uncomfortable in your own body. Unlike that too tight pair of shoes, there is no slipping out of your skin for sweet relief. It truly is a miserable place to be. The worst is when you feel this way and have to go to work or socialize. At least when you can stay home, you can keep your pajamas on all day, avoid mirrors and know that it will all be better in a day or two. But facing people and the world at large when you are filled with self-loathing is a daunting task.
I know what you are saying, simply stop overeating. Easier said than done. Besides, we all have those Holidays or celebration dinners when we throw our dietary cautions to the wind and dive in. Barring a morning after pill, which is a wonderful dream, we need to figure out how to feel “okay” even when we aren’t at our perceived ideals. We are our harshest critics. Maybe being nice to ourselves the morning after would go a much longer way than the usual persecuting voices in our heads that tell us, “You are so fat! You look disgusting! Shame on you!”
So next time I am feeling less than svelte (LOL!), I am going to be kind and forgiving to myself. Will let you know how it goes… Just an idea, since the morning after pill seems to be a dream, how about if we could get “fat” days as well as sick days at work? Then, if all else fails, at least we could call in “fat”!
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