Category Archives: Food

Pattraporn, machst du keine Diät!

*Achtung! Mein deutsch ist schlecht. Wirklich. Wirklich. Wirklich schlecht. Entschuldigung Sie mich bitte!

Meine blog post heute ist für meine neue Freundin Pattraporn. Sie ist eine schöne Frau aus Thailand. Sie ist lustig, freundlich und sehr intelligent. Aber, das Problem ist, dass sie immer sagt, ‘Ich bin fett. Ich mache Diät.”

Das ist falsche, Pattraporn. Du solltest nicht Diät machen. Nein. Du musst nicht Diät machen. Diäten sind für Menschen die zu Hochzeiten oder Scheidung Gericht gehen.

Das Wort ‘Diät’ macht mich wollen in einer dunklen ecke verstecken und essen eine ganze Schokolade Kuchen.

Auf Englisch, “Diet” ist gleich “die” was bedeutet ‘sterben.’

Stimmt!

Meine berate:

  • keine Diäten! du musst eine Art zu essen für dein ganzen leben finden.
  • du solltest viel essen: Gemüse, Fleisch, etwas Obst. wenn du hungrig bist, essen etwas gesundes, natürliche Lebensmittel.
  • manchmal, etwas süß essen: Geburtstags, Umzug Parties, Freitags:) und so weiter. Das ist okay.
  • Wirfst die Waage in den Müll: Gewichte ist nicht wichtig. Du solltest gesund sein.
  • Denkst du positiv–nie negativ. Jedermann kann ein gesundes leben haben, aber verändern beginnt in der kopf.
  • macht sport. Ja! laufen, Pilates, yoga, karate, wandern, windsurfen auf dem Brombachsee, einkaufen;) Crossfit (der beste)

Jeder Teil deines Lebens ist verbunden: deine Meinung, Körper und Geist.

Jetzt ist mein kopf leer. Ich gehe ins Bett. Am Morgen ich habe Deutsche schule (danke Gott! meine deutschen freunden sagen).  Ab Mai kann ich über meine ersten deutschen blog post lachen–oder es löschen.

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Take the Yoke

KB Snatch

I’ve been in a malaise of stress and mental exhaustion since I last wrote. And let me tell you, comfort eating does not cure a damn thing. Chocolate bars won’t help you sleep; potato chips won’t play taxi driver for your kids; and raw cookie dough won’t fix the timing belt on your retro car.

However, five extra pounds in the winter does not have to turn into ten or twenty–it can stop here. And despite the recent proliferation of lebkuchen in Germany and my lack of regimented marathon training, my weight can dial back to normal based on the choices that I make.

Laziness, negativity, cookie-dough-eating: these are choices.

So what if you don’t feel motivated (to exercise, to write, to eat healthy)? Who the hell cares? Do what you know is right–no matter how ‘motivated’ you feel.

And as long as you are breathing and thinking somewhat clearly, then it’s not too late.

Every time I run a marathon, the first five miles are spent vowing to NEVER run another one again.

This has happened eight times.

Motivation is great, but it’s irrelevant. It’s better to just get the job done.

I’m not a pilot, so I apologize if my metaphor is inaccurate; but one thing I DO know is that if you’re in a nosedive, then you should pull up.

So you’ve been smoking for thirty years.

Pull up.

You’ve been eating crap for forty years.

Pull up.

Your only exercise is getting up to use the bathroom during commercial breaks.

Pull up.

It’s not too late.

And even if it turns out it IS too late, you don’t want the blackbox to reveal you were pushing forward on the yoke the entire time, telling the copilot, ‘I just can’t help it.’

Visualize what you want your life to look like–not just five years from now, but in the moment. And be utterly content with where you are in the dangerous process of dream-making.

If you look out and see nothing but the ground rushing towards you, then it’s time to take a deep breath, grab the yoke, and pull it back.

That’s what I’m choosing. 

 

 

 


Parenting with Chocolate

In a Galaxy Far, Far Away… and yes, I am pregnant in this picture!

I ate chocolate.

It wasn’t dark, paleo-friendly chocolate either.

It was a big, square Ritter bar with nuts.

I ate two of them.

Not the little squares that you break off the grid–but ALL the little squares.

Two bars’ worth.

After I ate them, I thought: “Wow! That’s weird. Why did I eat those?”

Considering the mountain marathon I have coming up in September, I’ve been pretty good about my diet. I eat lean meats and veggies. No sugar, no gluten (as always), no nuts, eggs, fruits or grains. I ‘cheat’ on Friday with my gluten-free pizza and a glass of red wine, while the kids and I watch a movie; and Pancake Morning (or lately, Crepe Morning) on Sunday. IF I have chocolate, it usually coincides with Movie night. But TWO bars?! This was a first.

Why? I wondered. Why?

I can’t just eat chocolate and enjoy it–no, I have to psychoanalyze it.

I think it started with my eldest son saying he was buying a one-way ticket to Guatemala.

I’ve been preparing myself for his launch for a while, and honestly, I’ve been happy for him. But it’s just that talk about airline prices made the event a little too real.

But I know how it is when you’re waiting for life to start. While I LOVED raising my kids in Alaska, I always had this feeling that life had not quite begun for me. That while I WAS involved in the toughest, most important job on earth (which ironically included mind-numbing bouts of Dora the Explorer), there was always this sense that there was something else out there that would light the fire in my soul. For some women, child-rearing is that spark–and they are good at it. They have their babies, they adopt, they homeschool, and I truly respect them for how well they do this.

But no matter how much I enjoyed it, and no matter how good I was at it–it wasn’t quite me. Not quite.

It’s the same with teaching.

I love interaction with the students.

I love being there when the ‘light bulb’ clicks on.

I love being helpful.

But it’s still not quite me.

The one thing that does ‘light the fire’ is writing. It doesn’t mean that it’s easy. In fact, sometimes I hate writing. I’ll sit down to the computer, stare at the blank screen and think, ‘What the hell am I going to write?’

But if I stop over-thinking, the words will come. And before I know it, I have something to say.

When I was writing my fiction manuscript, I would read a new chapter to the kids every morning at breakfast–and even though it was course and unrefined, they loved listening to the adventures of the main character. We were transported from those dark winter days, sitting by the sunshine-lamp at the breakfast table, to another world where animals could talk and girls could fly.

While I can (and do) write non-fiction, fiction is my passion, my true love, and hopefully the words I craft can help people along the way. I am a firm believer that even fiction can make lives better. I mean, why do we have such a love for Cinderella stories or happy endings?

It’s because fiction gives us a sense of the good things in life. That life CAN and SHOULD be lived to the fullest.

It’s hard work though. Cinderella did get stuck with all the dirty chores and emotional abuse before things turned around for her. And while we can’t always expect a Fairy Godmother, we can work hard towards our dreams.

Why go through life without dreams?

And so…with the words one-way ticket and Guatemala in my mind… I prayed that I would have the strength to let my son go.

It didn’t take long.

After two bars of chocolate and a little crying, I felt genuinely happy for him.

Because I know how it is to feel stuck. To feel like your real life hasn’t started. And our time on earth is very limited. It should never be wasted.

Marathon running, CrossFit, writing–these things are part of me. They shape who I am as a person. Parenting is also just one part of my life–not the whole of it. Because if my only job is to be a parent, then I lose myself. And it makes launching children into the world nearly impossible.

I want them to live their lives and strive for their dreams.

That’s my job.

I just have to let go.

Of the kids, as they become independent.

And of the chocolate.

Because it doesn’t really help after all. 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Immersion by Party: In Which I Speak Terrible German, Sing the Beatles and Try Schnaps

 

 

*This is a random stock photo: no lederhosen were present at the actual party!

An innocuous slip of paper in my mailbox began it all. The American translation was this:

  • We’re having a party, so don’t complain if it’s too loud, because we just warned you.
  • We will be grilling, so don’t turn us in to the police if you see the smoke–it’s legal.
  • Bring meat. Lots of meat.
  • Preferably wrapped in bacon.
  • Bring a salad.
  • Preferably wrapped in meat.
  • We will have more drinks available than the Geträngtmarkt.
  • RSVP two days ago.

I’d like to say my RSVP was late because I was busy working. I WAS busy, but the truth is that the invitation sat on my fireplace mantle for several days. I would read it whenever I passed by.

A party.

Not on my street, but in my neighborhood.

With Germans (well…yeah…I live in Germany, this makes sense).

I don’t know any of them.

I sound like a 3 year-old when I speak German. (Yes, me like wine red, please?)

Then I told my kids a story at dinner one night: it was my first day of high school. I was painfully shy. I decided to reinvent myself. So, I introduced myself to the first person I saw during the lunch-break. The poor soul happened to be Mavis, who remains one of my very best friends to this day.

As soon as I told that story, I knew I had to go to the party. I mean, if I was forcing encouraging my kids, who’ve had very little exposure to public school AT ALL, to go to GERMAN school, then I could certainly wrap some veggies in meat and saunter down the block to meet the neighbors.

Besides, I could always leave after a couple of hours.

I filled out the RSVP, wrote a nice card and paid my youngest five bucks to deliver it.

The invitation said to arrive after 18:00. I was there by 19:30.

I wasn’t the first one there, nor was I the last, as people slowly trickled in throughout the night.

You can imagine how awkward it was at first–I’m terrible at small talk, in any language. But the hostess was gracious and got me oriented, while some of the neighbors invited me to sit with them.

There seems to be a set of standard questions, probably issued by the Ausländerbehörde, for Germans to ask before getting to know anyone from the US.

After it’s established where I live (they want to know EXACTLY the house and number and then they tell me the history of my house), the conversation then goes like this: 

“Do you know other Americans in our town?”

“No,” I reply.

“We have a large community of Americans here. We have an American family renting our duplex.”

“Oh…okay…”

“I’ll give you their number.”

“Uhh….”

“Where do you shop?”

“I like PennyMarkt.”

“Don’t you shop at the PX?”

“Not really.”

“Not at Katterbach?”

“No. I go to    [INSERT ANY GERMAN STORE HERE]   .

“Oh.”

Having lived in this area for a while, where the US families come and go like migrating birds, I can understand why Germans would want to connect Americans to each other, and not necessarily to themselves. It’s hard to say goodbye. And while three years SEEMS like a long time if you have a baby or you’re in prison, it’s slips by before you know it when you have a good friend. And it’s been said that if you make friends with a German, then you have a friend for life.

But once they find out that:

A) I have a job with a German company

B) My kids will go to German school

C) I want to live here forever

D) I NEED to become fluent in German

…the conversation changes.

Within an hour, I was asked to use ‘du.’

I listened.

A lot.

But I also spoke some. It was easiest during one-on-one conversation.

“What do you like to cook?”

“I like to grill chicken.”

“Do you bake?”

“No my daughter likes to bake.”

etc.

But sitting at a beer table with several very fränkische people was like the UltraMarathon of my linguistic abilities.

Occasionally, someone would slip up and speak ENGLISH, upon which, someone else would say, “Don’t speak English–she needs to learn German!”

I took that as a compliment.

The night went on. More food was eaten, coffee and cake were served, the stars came out and more wine was poured.

I spoke more.

I EVEN had a conversation about CrossFit! Trying to explain why it is NOT ‘bodybuilding.’ I talked about my training and my marathons and they wanted to know exactly how many kilometers I run daily/weekly/monthly and whether I belonged to a running ‘club’ or not.

Then the schnapps came out, and we were inexplicably singing ‘Yellow Submarine’ and other songs in English (with lyrics provided by someone’s smart phone).

I did learn a few valuable lessons:

  1. The things that take courage are often the most rewarding experiences
  2. ASK questions if you don’t know something (like, which Metzgerei is best)
  3. Friendships are an investment–what you put in is what you will get out, but use caution because not every scheme is solid
  4. A glass of wine improves your German
  5. Schnapps does NOT

The day after the party, I went to retrieve my salad bowl, which I’d forgotten in my late-night exit. (I ended up staying at the party MUCH longer than anticipated). The hostess said it had been brave of me to come to the party, and that we should get together more often.

I can hardly explain how good I feel about the whole thing. How much better life is, because I did something that was hard. How great it feels when you have friends.

How a simple piece of paper shaped the course of my life.

Someday, I’ll laugh with my friends about how weird I sounded all those years ago.

Someday, I’ll have a barbecue for my neighbors.

And I’ll invite the Americans renting my duplex.


Strength and Nutrition Challenge

keri rack pull

As if life weren’t challenging enough, I signed up for the strength & nutrition challenge at the box. This “stupid-easy” challenge has turned out to be a battle of wills between my healthy new self and the slothful old self who occasionally wakes up, yawns, and inhales a portion of pommes mit mayo.

I blame it on the health clinic.

You would think a place where getting people ‘healthy’ would have more fresh options besides bananas and chocolate.

I have to credit the little cafe though–it’s probably the only place in Germany that doesn’t sell alcohol, though that might be due to its proximity to the drug rehab facility.

But you can buy your cigarettes, schnitzel, pommes, soda and ice cream.

My new self would carry an emergency pack of tuna in her purse; but I haven’t become as organized as I’d like to be. Like spores, my ‘to-do’ list asexually reproduces every time I turn my back. I don’t even bother writing things on my calendar any more until after the fact.

Thus, I am failing the challenge so far.

However, I have learned that this nutrition thing really does work. My worst WODs this past month were ALWAYS after I’d been eating badly.

Always.

Ironically, the worse I eat, the more I sleep. It’s as if my body knows that fat, salt and sugar require more down-time for storage.

So, I am pounding my fist on the table (again) and saying, “Enough!”

From here until my birthday (where I WILL eat cake), I am going to stick to the eating plan.

I have to remind myself that I AM an athlete–and by the way, I have a mountain marathon in September. I can’t pack on any weight at all–even muscle or my knees will go on strike.

It’s hard to get rid of old habits. But I need to keep in mind the person I want to be. This is a huge time of transition in my life, and I’ve got to start snipping the strings of things that are holding me back, which in this case, means french fries.

This challenge has proven more difficult than I thought it would be. But I want to get rid of my cravings, and I want to give my body the very best so I can perform the best.

I’ve discovered that nutrition really does affect all areas of my life. When I’m eating properly, my mind feels sharper, I’m more energetic, and this sounds strange, but when I look in the mirror, my eyes seem brighter. If I DO get that face-to-face interview for the job that I want, then I want to be at my very best.

When I feel good, I’m more confident, and I can handle the pressures life is throwing at me.

When I feel bad (from eating junk), I become a weepy puddle. That’s not a good look for me.

So, after I finish drinking my coffee this morning, IF I’m hungry, I’ll go find some fresh veggies to fuel my day.

I know my old self is going to rear her ugly head; and I can anticipate a fight.

May the best girl win.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


A Sugar Junkie Reforms (Again)

candy bugs

While I usually strive for excellent nutrition, this weekend I fell off the wagon–and I feel like it ran me over.

I’ve been participating in a strength and nutrition challenge, and I think I probably blew all my progress on one weekend of chocolate eggs, ham and potatoes.

But I reform!

Again.

My kids joke about me being a good addict because I always seem to mean it when I say I’m going to quit.

But it’s true this time.

Really.

From here on out, no more sugar (and a lot of other stuff on the verboten list).

The problem with being a junkie is that nobody believes you when you say you’re going to quit–you actually have to DO it. Even then they think you’re hiding M&M’s in your sock drawer.

However, before my relapse, I was feeling really good. I was more focused, energetic and I simply felt better overall (despite my dietary infractions with pommes).

I feel like I’ve arrived at a critical moment in my life, where several major events are intersecting, and how I handle them (like in a good time-travel movie) will shape my future–for better or worse.

I opt for better.

It’s easy to get caught up in the high of a single moment, instead of waiting for the rewards of a long-term investment.

No one forced me to eat chocolate eggs; it was a choice I made. A bad one, obviously, but it was still something over which I had control.

I was telling a friend about one of our WODs. I was doing a 100 meter farmers carry when it started hailing. She (not a cross fitter, but I love her dearly) said, “They MADE you go outside anyway?”

“Made me?”

“It’s not boot camp,” she replied. “You didn’t have to do it.”

“But it was for time!”

Sometimes you just do stuff–especially with the clock running. Getting ice down my tank top was just another variable that makes Crossfit interesting.

It’s the same thing with marathon training. I run in any kind of weather, except, perhaps, monsoons because I don’t like debris flying at me.

It’s a mindset.

If you think you can’t control your sugar problem, then you will relapse. But if you don’t give yourself an option, then you just might be ok this time.

There are a lot of things I won’t be able to control this week–like getting a face-to-face interview for the job I really want.

But what I can control, I will.

If it means choosing the 16kg kettle bells instead of the 12s, I will. Or at least I’ll try. If it means Just Saying No to pommes, then I’ll do that too.

It all boils down to something our coach asked while I was pressing:

How bad do you want it?

I was fairly happy with the press.

But how badly do I want a new life?

It’s all I can think about anymore.

And that means it’s time to stop talking about it and to dig in and make it happen. The whole course of my future could hinge on what choices I make today.

I want to make the right ones for a change.

I really mean it this time.

Wait and see.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Stuffed

vintage thanksgiving (6)

Four days of no Crossfit is 3 1/2 too many. And now that we’re about a week post-feast, I can fit back into my spandex, but it was touch and go there for a while, and I started the hunt for the perfect sweatpants, just in case.

The day after Thanksgiving, we did go to the pool, and I did wear my size small bikini, but I felt like a BIG, FAT SLUG. It was a feeling that lasted through Saturday’s eight-mile run, Monday’s WOD, and lingered until yesterday’s great CWOD. Even though I was slow yesterday, I think I sweated a LOT of the slugness out of me. 

The hard part about holiday eating is simply the “it’s only once a year” mindset. Because if it’s only once a year, you’d better eat AS MUCH AS YOU POSSIBLY CAN before the cucumber and lettuce hammer falls once again.

If you have a gluten problem, like me, then you also feel obligated to eat the entire gluten-free apple pie your daughter baked, because she went to so much trouble. And as for the gluten-free pumpkin cheesecake…I made that PURELY for the kids.

Okay, that was a lie. But it’s only once a year, right?

vintage thanksgiving (11)

No. The once a year thing has got to stop. Because in addition to the pure wrong-ness of binge eating as much fat and sugar as possible within a 24 hour time frame, it can really throw off your healthy-eating groove, and launch you into a toxic hunger death spiral. Pretty soon you’re bloated and craving sugar popcorn while you online shop for sweatpants.

I need balance in my life in all areas. I think it will be FINE to have Mandeln nuts at the Christkindlesmarkt, but maybe I should have the kleine Tüte and not the grossen. Maybe I CAN have some pumpkin cheesecake on Christmas, but not half the pie.

This will be a battle. In addition to the traditional German foods that emerge from hibernation this time of year, my mother is visiting for the holidays, and she will bring family recipes that have been part of the holiday season since Eve baked the first sugar cookie.

I hate to seem finicky about food, but too much dairy makes my hands ache; too much salt makes my knees hurt; too many grains make me bloated; a little gluten feels like I’ve swallowed nails; and too much gluten knocks me out faster than a shot of Rohypnol.

I am THE world’s worst dinner guest!

Or maybe I’m the BEST because I bring my own food? 

The point is: when I throw off the health fetters, I’m harming my body. I’ve got to really focus on how I’m fueling my body–even if the entire house smells like freshly-baked cookies.

The path leading to the holidays is dangerous–go with caution!