By Fallon Kane
You do it with your own two hands, so there's a sense of pride. You really do forget all our problems, because you're focusing on the food.
~Rachael Ray
I am not your average seventeen-year-old. This is epitomized by the Christmas gifts I got this year. In addition to the usual teenage girl stuff (a Katy Perry CD, jewelry, really cute mittens), I also got a stainless steel skillet, a square griddle, a ten-speed hand mixer, a baking spatula, and rubber prep bowls. And they thrilled me to no end. As you can tell, I love to cook.
Sitting here now, I smile as I think about the day before that Christmas. On that Christmas Eve, I spent hours in the kitchen, up to my elbows in flour and sugar. I scooped peanut-butter cookie dough onto baking sheets, then popped a Hershey's Kiss in their center right when they came out of the oven. I used a wooden spoon to roll out the sugar cookie dough I had prepped the night before and cut out cute little snowmen and stars, before rubbing them with egg wash and sprinkles and placing them in the oven. Later that night, I sautéed a handful of chopped onion in butter before adding spinach, artichokes, and cheese to the pan to make the most delicious dip ever. I loved every second in that kitchen, my nose filling with warm aromas and my ears attuned to the sizzle of vegetables. Cooking is pure bliss.
A little more than a year ago, I would never have said that cooking was anything other than a danger to be avoided. But I have grown a lot since then.
You see, after Christmas when I was fifteen, I made a New Year's resolution to lose weight. It started out innocently enough. I cut out chocolate milk and juice in favor of water, and scaled down my portions. I already loved running and was a member of a gym, but I kicked my workouts up a notch. I began to lose weight slowly but steadily. I was pleased with the results but wanted my ideal body to come more rapidly.
I should have seen that coming. I am, and probably always will be, a perfectionist. I do not like to settle for being in the middle or doing "well." To be the best, the brightest, the fastest, and now, the skinniest -- I jump into projects full force to obtain my goal.
Calories became my obsession. The calories I ate, the calories I burned. It seemed logical to me that I should attempt to burn off every calorie I ate. So I stuck to a strict 1200-calorie-a-day diet (which in reality amounted to probably less than 1000), and burned over 800 calories a day in cardio. I hoped the remaining 400 would be burned from forty-five minutes of full-body strength training.
I panicked if my diet changed even a little. I remember one time when my mother, trying to coax me into being less anxious about food, made me a baked potato with grilled chicken and steamed broccoli. I could not finish it. How was I supposed to know how many calories were in it? Most of my diet was centered on frozen meals and packaged foods that had very precise serving sizes and calories. This plate of food was sheer madness!
Oddly enough, it was during this time that I began to watch cooking shows. My thought was if I could not enjoy the taste of food, at least I could enjoy the sight of it. So Rachael Ray, Giada De Laurentiis, and Bobby Flay became my regular viewing buddies.
I really think I can attribute a good portion of my recovery to those cooking shows. The hosts had such a light and passion in their eyes when they talked about this meat they were searing, or how wonderful the crusty bread would taste when spread with this tangy sauce. Rachael Ray was particularly influential. She was always smiling! I'll never forget something she said on one episode -- with great sincerity, she insisted to the camera: "Food should be fun!"
Wait a second. How could food be fun? Food made you fat. Food was very scary.
But gradually, that message began to sink in. Maybe my thoughts about food were skewed.
Other factors played into this realization as well. I was called down to the nurse because my teachers were worried about my rapid weight loss. I got into fights with my mother over the state of my body. I began to have panic attacks when I could not go to the gym. My best friend showed me a text conversation she had had with another one of my friends about how I looked like a skeleton.
Then, slowly but steadily, I began to catch on. I realized that I was hurting my body. I had no period, I had trouble sleeping and, worst of all, I was causing my family and friends anxiety. It took some time, a lot of support from my loved ones, and therapy, but I finally accepted the idea that I needed to gain back some weight.
I also began to put some techniques I learned from my cooking shows into practice. Not necessarily cooking techniques at first, but how the hosts savored and appreciated the food in front of them. Enjoying every bite, appreciating a food's texture and taste, really brought home the idea that food was a good thing. Then I could put the actual cooking techniques into practice.
For what I believe is the first time in my life, I have achieved a healthy balance. I still love to run and work out, but now, if I have a very active day, I know I need to eat more. I eat very healthily, but I do not count calories as much. I recognize that I need to put nutritious food into my body, but I also know that the occasional pizza and the more-than-occasional piece of chocolate will not hurt me.
Now, I am hungry. I think I will make an egg white frittata with any vegetables I can find, and serve it alongside a freshly sliced tomato and a healthy scoop of salsa. Yum!
You do it with your own two hands, so there's a sense of pride. You really do forget all our problems, because you're focusing on the food.
~Rachael Ray
I am not your average seventeen-year-old. This is epitomized by the Christmas gifts I got this year. In addition to the usual teenage girl stuff (a Katy Perry CD, jewelry, really cute mittens), I also got a stainless steel skillet, a square griddle, a ten-speed hand mixer, a baking spatula, and rubber prep bowls. And they thrilled me to no end. As you can tell, I love to cook.
Sitting here now, I smile as I think about the day before that Christmas. On that Christmas Eve, I spent hours in the kitchen, up to my elbows in flour and sugar. I scooped peanut-butter cookie dough onto baking sheets, then popped a Hershey's Kiss in their center right when they came out of the oven. I used a wooden spoon to roll out the sugar cookie dough I had prepped the night before and cut out cute little snowmen and stars, before rubbing them with egg wash and sprinkles and placing them in the oven. Later that night, I sautéed a handful of chopped onion in butter before adding spinach, artichokes, and cheese to the pan to make the most delicious dip ever. I loved every second in that kitchen, my nose filling with warm aromas and my ears attuned to the sizzle of vegetables. Cooking is pure bliss.
A little more than a year ago, I would never have said that cooking was anything other than a danger to be avoided. But I have grown a lot since then.
You see, after Christmas when I was fifteen, I made a New Year's resolution to lose weight. It started out innocently enough. I cut out chocolate milk and juice in favor of water, and scaled down my portions. I already loved running and was a member of a gym, but I kicked my workouts up a notch. I began to lose weight slowly but steadily. I was pleased with the results but wanted my ideal body to come more rapidly.
I should have seen that coming. I am, and probably always will be, a perfectionist. I do not like to settle for being in the middle or doing "well." To be the best, the brightest, the fastest, and now, the skinniest -- I jump into projects full force to obtain my goal.
Calories became my obsession. The calories I ate, the calories I burned. It seemed logical to me that I should attempt to burn off every calorie I ate. So I stuck to a strict 1200-calorie-a-day diet (which in reality amounted to probably less than 1000), and burned over 800 calories a day in cardio. I hoped the remaining 400 would be burned from forty-five minutes of full-body strength training.
I panicked if my diet changed even a little. I remember one time when my mother, trying to coax me into being less anxious about food, made me a baked potato with grilled chicken and steamed broccoli. I could not finish it. How was I supposed to know how many calories were in it? Most of my diet was centered on frozen meals and packaged foods that had very precise serving sizes and calories. This plate of food was sheer madness!
Oddly enough, it was during this time that I began to watch cooking shows. My thought was if I could not enjoy the taste of food, at least I could enjoy the sight of it. So Rachael Ray, Giada De Laurentiis, and Bobby Flay became my regular viewing buddies.
I really think I can attribute a good portion of my recovery to those cooking shows. The hosts had such a light and passion in their eyes when they talked about this meat they were searing, or how wonderful the crusty bread would taste when spread with this tangy sauce. Rachael Ray was particularly influential. She was always smiling! I'll never forget something she said on one episode -- with great sincerity, she insisted to the camera: "Food should be fun!"
Wait a second. How could food be fun? Food made you fat. Food was very scary.
But gradually, that message began to sink in. Maybe my thoughts about food were skewed.
Other factors played into this realization as well. I was called down to the nurse because my teachers were worried about my rapid weight loss. I got into fights with my mother over the state of my body. I began to have panic attacks when I could not go to the gym. My best friend showed me a text conversation she had had with another one of my friends about how I looked like a skeleton.
Then, slowly but steadily, I began to catch on. I realized that I was hurting my body. I had no period, I had trouble sleeping and, worst of all, I was causing my family and friends anxiety. It took some time, a lot of support from my loved ones, and therapy, but I finally accepted the idea that I needed to gain back some weight.
I also began to put some techniques I learned from my cooking shows into practice. Not necessarily cooking techniques at first, but how the hosts savored and appreciated the food in front of them. Enjoying every bite, appreciating a food's texture and taste, really brought home the idea that food was a good thing. Then I could put the actual cooking techniques into practice.
For what I believe is the first time in my life, I have achieved a healthy balance. I still love to run and work out, but now, if I have a very active day, I know I need to eat more. I eat very healthily, but I do not count calories as much. I recognize that I need to put nutritious food into my body, but I also know that the occasional pizza and the more-than-occasional piece of chocolate will not hurt me.
Now, I am hungry. I think I will make an egg white frittata with any vegetables I can find, and serve it alongside a freshly sliced tomato and a healthy scoop of salsa. Yum!
http://www.chickensoup.com
Комментариев нет:
Отправить комментарий