Mission Mondays: Patriotism, Politics, and Productivity

Happy Memorial Day, everyone! In this last installment of Mission Mondays, I'm going to delve into the dangerous world of politics a bit, just to keep things interesting and controversial enough to retain my 3-person reader base. I promise I won't get too offensive, and, in reality, I guess what I have to say is more patriotic than political. But, let's face it: which title word caught *your* attention more? I thought so.

I've always been interested in the political processes of our country. And I pretty much mean always. During George Bush's election campaign of 1988, I would get so excited whenever he appeared on TV that I would run up and kiss the screen. I would also repeatedly declare that, "Michael Dukakis is a tax-raiser!" I was seven. Do you realize how few of my first-grade friends were following the presidential campaign at the time? Well, I never got around to taking a Gallup poll during recess, but I would venture to say NONE.

Things hardly let up during my high school years. I took Government and Economics, found out about the dangers of Communism, and made an obscene number of statements that began with "If we do....., then the Communists win!" If they're looking for descendants of some secret love child of Joseph McCarthy, they might want to check my DNA.

As I've gotten older, I've come to realize that there is more to America than political campaigns and propaganda. That political theories debated in the classroom become presidential policies which affect an entire population. But, more importantly, individuals still have the power to change the tide of their family, their community, their nation.

Through my career, I get to offer people the freedom to craft a future of their own making. It doesn't matter what your past is like; you can still shape your future. My students can exchange junk food for real food; they can trade in channel surfing for power walking;  and they can trade in their "I have bad genes" attitude for one that says, "I will beat the odds."

The unemployed and unfulfilled can choose genuine well-being over welfare. Like the amazing Melting Pot we as Americans enjoy, my business team is made up of diversity that shows that the American Dream comes true for those who do. I've never been in a career where age, education, social standing, ethnicity, business experience, or credentialing matter less. Give me a person who is willing to learn and work, and watch the changes take place. When people are given control of their own future, some pretty awesome things happen.

The American Dream is still worth fighting for. I would like to think that all of troops who have ever sacrificed anything for this nation--including their time, their lives, and their own personal comforts--have not sacrificed in vain. That we in gratitude can give them an America filled with people who value freedom as much as our troops do. That we would be a nation of independents, not dependents. That we would never trade in freedom for free-loading. That we would be an America that they are proud to return to, a country full of individuals who realize that the power to choose is a precious gift, given to us at the expense of others, and stripped away from those who no longer value it . America would look like this:


"It is my right to be uncommon--if I can.
I seek opportunity--not security. I do not wish to be a kept citizen, humbled and dulled by having the state look after me.
I want to take the calculated risk; to dream and to build, to fail and to succeed.
I refuse to barter incentive for a dole. I prefer the challenges of life to the guaranteed existence; the thrill of fulfillment to the stale calm of utopia.
I will not trade freedom for beneficence nor my dignity for a handout. I will never cower before any master nor bend to any threat.
It is my heritage to stand erect, proud and unafrid; to think and act for myself, enjoy the benefit of my creations and to face the world boldly and say, "This I have done.'"
--Dean Alfange


This inspiring little quote is the essence of the American Dream, the spirit of the entrepreneur. All too often, we are willing to trade our joy for a job, our dreams for a deposit, and our hustle for a handout. Somewhere along the way, we need to be willing to trade in a little security for a lot of success, so that we can prove to the world that the free market works for those who try.


While I didn't really embark on this career path to save America, it's kind of cool to think I can play a small role in making her future brighter just by inviting someone to join my team. Forbes Magazine says that small businesses and entrepreneurs are the key to turning our economy around, and I believe it. My "Now Hiring" sign will never come down, because there is always room for one more self-starter to take the lemons life has handed him and make lemonade from them. Entrepreneurs can put America back to work, and give her the courage to dream about life beyond the unemployment line, about a life that never settles for less than its true worth. 


So this Memorial Day, the best way I can honor our men and women in uniform is to go out and make a difference in the America they love. I hope you'll join me in finding a way to do the same. Because if we don't, then the Communists win. Just had to throw that in there.

Bonus Quote: “Those who surrender freedom for security will not have, nor do they deserve, either one.” ― Thomas Jefferson

Interested in what I do? Or just freaked about the Commies taking over? Stick it to them with an entrepreneurial career! Check out this video and let me know how I can help you craft a better future! 

Mission Mondays: It's for the Good of the Children

Welcome back to Mission Mondays! If you're just joining us, this is a special feature of the blog where you get to take a peek into the method behind my madness and find out why I love what I do! If you were one of the twenty people who read my post last week and *still* came back for more, I commend you. And I would probably suggest a psychological evaluation, as well. But thanks for sticking with me anyway.

This week's topic: I work "for the good of the children." And I don't mean that in the way like fighting couples who want to wait until the last kid leaves the nest until they separate do. Nothing emotionally devastating like that. And I don't mean it like some ditzy Miss America contestant would say it, when she lists off her stereotypical goals of world peace and ending hunger. No, I mean I love what I do and I do what I do because I think kids deserve to grow up healthy, and I think Moms deserve to play an active role in their well-being.

Here's an experiment for your day-after-Mother's-Day amusement: Take three kids, preferably your own, if you have that many. Now pick your least favorite (you know who it is...), buy them a Happy Meal, then blindfold them, and tell them not to use one appendage for the day.  After you've completed the experiment and paid the shrink bills for little Johnny, who has now confirmed what he has always suspected--that Susie really *is* your favorite--come back and read this post.

Did you know that the odds of today's kids developing diabetes are 1-in-3? And did you know that, while you may have gotten to *choose* to afflict your least favorite child in this experiment, diabetes can strike your *favorite* kiddo and leave them with a lifetime of health problems that could eventually result in blindness and amputations???? While my experiment may have been off-the-wall and you may be a completely unbiased parent resentful of my assuming you had an obvious favorite like my grandmother does, I hope you let the point of it sink in. Our kids are at risk of being the first Americans to live shorter lives than their parents because of the food culture we've created for them. Couple that with less play time and more PlayStations, and we have a recipe for an unprecedented health crisis in our nation.

As a woman, I believe I have been entrusted with one of the most sacred responsibilities known to man: cooking dinner. I don't know where you fall on the women's lib spectrum, but I tend to enjoy the traditional female role of being the family chef. In this way, I can achieve two main goals: 1) look like wife-of-the-year every night I make a quality meal, and 2) avoid eating the monotonously bland menu of unseasoned chicken breasts and pre-packaged lettuce that I would be subject to if the Hubs were in charge of mealtimes. I believe that women have a HUGE influence over the health of their family just by choosing what meals and snacks will be served in the home and sent in the Justin Bieber lunchbox. 

Personally, when we have a family of our own, I want those little guys and girls to think of ground turkey meatballs as normal, and Goldfish crackers as a snack for bad kids who don't get to eat Mommy's air-popped popcorn with her while she watches Survivor. One of the coolest things I ever saw was a 5-year-old ask her Mom what a Snickers bar was, because she honestly had no idea what delightfully dangerous goodness lay underneath that pretty packaging. That's the type of Mom I want to be (sort of--I think my kids will be able to pick out a Snickers bar in a line-up), and I have the privilege of helping other Moms make healthy the new norm for their families, too. I get to show them how simple it is to cook a healthy meal, how capable they are of providing their kids with the nutrition their little bodies need to thrive and grow, and how much fun it is to have family races and bike rides that don't involve Mario Kart.

Aside from changing family meal times, one of my greatest passions is to give Moms more time with their children. One of the main reasons I chose my career is for the flexibility and power it gave me to earn an income without missing out on the big moments and the little moments that I want to enjoy with my kids. I really don't want to miss a thing. (You can thank me for having a continuous loop of that Aerosmith song in your head later...)   Now, I realize that some Moms are way happier with an eight-hour-a-day break from domestic life, and I totally respect that. But it absolutely breaks my heart to see a Mom who wants to stay at home go back to the office, or a stay-at-home Mom go without, just because neither of them realize that you don't have to sacrifice time for money or money for time. 

I personally choose not to subscribe to the faulty theory that bread-winning and baby-snuggling are mutually exclusive. I don't even have kids yet, and I can't imagine being forced to leave them just to take in a paycheck. Could I choose to leave them for a time? If it's shoe shopping or a Snickers sale, heck yes. No, in all seriousness, I believe that women should decide what's best for their families, instead of letting circumstances dictate their actions. One of my biggest dreams for my business is to have a team of amazingly gratified women who pay for their kids' braces, ballet, and baseball and *still* get to watch every game and recital because their career choice gave them the opportunity to do both.

It's almost as good as having your cake and eating it, too. If you follow the link to this easy, healthy cake, you can do both AND be a dinner goddess tonight.


Bonus Quote: The future destiny of a child is always the work of the mother.  
- Napoleon Bonaparte
Um.....I wonder where his Mom went wrong? Probably too much French bread.

Mission Mondays: Why I Do What I Do (And We're Not Talking Ice Cream and Cinnabons Here...)

Welcome to the newest feature of the Waist Management blog, affectionately to be known henceforth as Mission Mondays! This is designed to give you a little more insight into the meaningful side of a being a health and wellness entrepreneur/ health coach, not just the fringe benefits of looking up facts about Snickers, Cinnabons, and Oreos. Why do I do what I do? Why do I care about the obesity crisis in America? Whose lives have I seen get better? What makes me think you have any business reading about my business of helping other people with their business?  You will find answers to these and other compelling questions that none of you have lost any sleep over in this feature!

So, with all my confessionals about being in love with chocolate and growing up as an awkwardly nonathletic child, you may be wondering how in the world I became so fascinated by the world of health & wellness. There's probably not a short answer to that question. Or any question I've ever been asked. Which is exactly why I write blogs and why I haven't joined Twitter, with its oppressive 140 character limit.

While a love for wellness may be in my genes, I didn't really become aware of how powerful and life-changing wellness could be until I started working for a local chiropractor in 2004. (And, yes, I will unabashedly give a plug right here for Dr. Dale Goode ...the man is amazing!) Through his work, I saw that people who had resigned themselves to a life of pain became whole again without surgery and without medication that had harmful side effects. I saw the power of the human body to heal and correct itself, given the proper guidance of experienced hands. And, most importantly, I saw people regain hope. Hope that they could walk upright again, hope that they could sit through their grandson's high school graduation without excruciating pain, hope that they could swing a golf club or hold a grandbaby or simply just tackle their daily to-do list painlessly.

And that's exactly what my business is all about. Hope. Every day, I have the opportunity to offer hope to women who feel stuck in their bodies; by teaching them to feed their body right, they discover that losing weight is more than just wishful thinking. I offer hope to people whose stiff joints keep them from bringing their best on the court; by finding nutrients that reduce inflammation and improve mobility, they rediscover the joy of motion.  I offer hope to the Mom who doesn't want to miss out on all baby's firsts; by inviting her to join my team, she discovers how to earn a living without sacrificing a life. I offer hope to those stressed out by the economy, deceived by "job security," and disgruntled with the status quo. I offer hope to those who have just "learned to live with the pain" and those who believe that their best days are behind them, only to discover that there's more life in their body now than there has been in years.

I guess the key to that hope is discovering that their problem has a solution. That nothing is permanent, and, given the right tools, nearly any situation can improve. Through this industry, I've heard mind-blowing stories of MS patients walking again, fibromyalgia patients getting back in the saddle (literally!), and Moms carrying babies to full-term after suffering a series of miscarriages. And I've watched hope emerge on a smaller scale, too, as women drop dress sizes, go off their blood pressure medication, or realize that diabetes doesn't have to be "in the cards" for them.  I've personally watched the Hubs morph from musician to triathlete, and I went from meandering to marathoning, because I have seen that hope fuels change, and change fuels solutions, and solutions fuel results. At any rate, it's a game-changer!

So maybe the next time I go to write my job title down, I'll just scratch the Certified Trinity Health Coach and write "Purveyor of Hope" or something snazzy like that. That sounds pretty cool, don't you think?

Bonus Feature: Mission Mondays will also come with an inspiring or motivational quote at the end of each article, written or spoken by folks way more famous or eloquent than I am. You know, people who don't have food fantasies or people who have like, 3, blog followers. Check out this thought for the day:

"Don't ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive."--H. Thurman 

(Thanks, Dr. Libby Weaver, for posting this on Facebook! Check out her amazing work, Accidentally Overweight, and remember to read it with an awesome Aussie accent in your head. Because she has one. And I want one.)

Forgive Me, Father, for I Have Cinn(abon)ed

If I were Catholic, I would invent a confession booth for health class teachers. It would be a tiny little box where they could purge themselves of the guilt of knowingly consuming bad food, even if they cannot purge the food itself. These booths would be set up strategically in vacation hotspots across the country, where these offenses are most likely to occur. Just outside the booth--which would feel uncomfortably small, due to the weight gain caused by offending foods--would be a line of other healthy people, furtively glancing around and hoping nobody else sees them there, but taking comfort in the fact that those in line with them blew it, too. When it was my turn to confess, I would start out like this: "Forgive me, father, for I have Cinn(abon)ed. I should have listened to my skinny shoulder angel, who warned me against the dangers of a high-glycemic breakfast; but I chose instead to listen to the tempting voice of my shoulder devil, who, incidentally, smelled like fresh-baked rolls and cream cheese frosting. Which is really almost irrestible." Then, the father--who would probably be someone like Dr. Oz -- would raise his eyebrows in disapproval at my justification, so I would add: "But inexcusable nonetheless." Then he would probably tell me to throw 500 Hail Marys (the football kind) and drink 70-ounces of kale juice to come clean. If I refused to comply, there would be some sort of health-teacher purgatory where you have to sweat to the oldies with Richard Simmons for six months before being released. Suddenly, kale would seem appealing.

Yes, I wish there were a confession booth for these things. But, since there are not, I am using this blog as one. Lucky you.

The offense occurred at the end of my most recent vacation. The hubs and I had traveled to Las Vegas to spend time exploring Sin City with his family. There are plenty of sins to be sinned there, not the least of which is gluttony. You don't find many cities boasting of a place like the Heart Attack Grill, where they keep an EMS staff ready at all times to cart off any ill-fated customers, and give free food to those weighing over 350 pounds. Truly, I find the whole concept abhorrent, and extremely ironic, since Vegas is also the home to some of the most incredibly fit people I'd ever seen in the Cirque du Soleil shows. In general, my eating habits fall somewhere between Heart-Attack-Grill-bad, and Cirque-worthy good. While I don't *expect* myself to eat perfectly on vacation, eating an entire Cinnabon was a pretty egregious offense. And I paid for it dearly, with an almost-immediate sense of mental fatigue and fogginess and an irresistible desire to sleep every second of the first two legs of our return flight. In short, I experienced typical responses to a severe glucose spike.

Today, I had the courage to face my demons and find out how much damage that gooey monster really did. I knew it would be bad when the carb content was a three-digit number. My "It's vacation" indulgence was a doozy. In fact, I gasped audibly when I saw the nutrition facts, proving that my skinny shoulder angel is still alive and well. Turns out that Cinnabon's manufacturers have managed to cram the calories of two slices of pizza, along with the sugar content of two Snickers bars into that one little roll-in-a-box! And the 13 grams of protein do nothing to combat the astronomical glycemic load of 78. No wonder the hubs said he had never seen me that exhausted. My body was basically using as many resources as it could to process that bad boy, which is why I had no energy whatsoever. That, and my brain thought it was drowning, poor little guy.

I hope and pray that I am not the only one who has ever blown it this bad. If you've never eaten a Cinnabon, don't. It is so much easier to resist forbidden fruit if you've never tasted how good it is. I consider the hubs entirely to blame for introducing me to Cinnabon, and if they ever do invent a health food confessional, I'll be sure to throw him under the bus along with my sweet-scented shoulder devil. But, if you have ever indulged in a Cinnabon or anything else with a GL equivalent to four slices of pizza, consider these top three coping mechanisms, which are guaranteed to work at least as well as a confessional booth, and don't pose the threat of Richard Simmons in spandex:

1) Walk It Off-- Any sort of aerobic activity increases your insulin sensitivity, giving your body a fighting chance of processing at least some of the influx of glucose effectively. I probably should have done laps around the airport terminal instead of checking my Facebook before boarding. Or run another half-marathon on the Tarmac. *That* might have been just enough to level me off!

2) Share the Blame-- Nothing lightens a glycemic load quite like sharing an indulgence. If the hubs and I had split that delicious temptation, I might not have slept through nearly four hours of flight time; though, considering the in-flight movies were not complimentary, I'm not sure how much of life I truly missed out on.  Regardless, I would have put my body through half as much stress, and probably been able to write more of an advice column than a confessional.

3) Overcompensate-- True story: One of the top doctors in my company actually chugs a glass of this fiber supplement  whenver he knows he's going to have a slice of cake. The fiber slows down the entire process of converting food into sugar, so that cake isn't *quite* so detrimental to his system as it would be otherwise. The biggest mistake you can make is "saving your calories" for something bad by passing up an opportunity to consume something good. Without good food to taper the effects, your body actually reacts to the bad choice more severely than it would with a little fiber or protein in its system.

So, until they invent the health-nut confessional, the next time I overdo it, I think I'll take my own advice and do something good for myself. And I'll probably try to avoid big errors like this in the first place, because I would really hate to run into Richard Simmons. That seems like punishment enough for anyone.

Ice Cream Stains on My Race Jersey

So, you know that part in my personal introduction where I told you that I might reveal how health freaks mess up sometimes? I would now like to make good on that promise by telling on myself. And it won't be pretty. Which is why some of you will love it.

Just over two weeks ago, I finished my first half-marathon. It was a beautiful feeling. While I took longer than I had planned to, I still relished the sense of accomplishment that comes when a dream like that is realized. I got more than a little giddy at having my first legitimate finisher medal. And I love the technical tee that I got in my enrollment packet. It's soft, breathable, and, obviously, super cool because it comes from a flipping half- marathon. I wear that bad boy whenever I think I can get away with it.You would be amazed at how many times it has made it into the wardrobe rotation in little more than 14 days.

Just over a week ago, it was Free Cone Day at Ben & Jerry's. The Hubs and I are pretty frugal folks, so that word "free" caught my attention. The Hubs and I are also supposed to be pretty healthy folks, but Ben & Jerry's had me at hello. I was going to go get me some of that scrumptious stuff and cross my fingers that none of my health class students caught me there. And the only reason they *would* see me there is if they too were indulging, at which point I had my handy "judge-not-lest-ye-be-judged" retort ready. After all, I get to read their food diaries.

Guess what I wore to Free Cone Day? Yep. My race jersey. The Hubs went in one of his triathlon jerseys, and we laughed heartily at ourselves and our hypocrisy as only two people obsessed with health can do. Because it's really not that funny otherwise.

Guess what I dripped all over my race jersey? Yep. My Free Cone. Which, incidentally, I had upgraded to a waffle cone with an extra scoop of ice cream. It was only $2, and it supported the schools. Of course, I could also have supported the schools by getting the new frozen Greek yogurt varieties, but I wasn't interested in small cones, or offerings that did not include chocolate. And the chocolate is exactly what landed on three different spots of my race jersey. The diet gods sought their revenge for my poor choice, and they got me where it hurt the most.

NOTE: This picture is from Google images. It isn't me. It doesn't

look a thing like me. Heck, if my skin were that tan, I would care less

about being caught with a face full of chocolate. Or ice cream. Or both.

Thankfully, my jersey is fine now, thanks to a little pre-treatment with Dawn dishwashing liquid, which I am not paid to endorse, but now feel I ought to be. It looks like nothing ever happened, and it is ready to be worn on whatever food adventure carries me off next.

For the most part, my body looks like nothing ever happened, but that can't be quite true. Every time we eat something with a GL over 20, we send our glucose levels on a roller coaster ride that causes weird things to happen. Things like arterial spasms that we never feel. Things like energy depletion that we do feel. Truth be told, ice cream served at home isn't *that* bad on the glycemic load spectrum. A half-cup serving, on average, has a GL of about 8. While I don't heartily advocate it, because it's really not what any dietician would dub a balanced snack, it certainly isn't the worst blood sugar offender out there. 

So what's the big deal about my ill-fated foray on Free Cone Day? In the world of glycemic loads, size really does matter. Have you ever seen a half-cup of ice cream? It's less than you think. It may have been the size of the single-scoop Free Cone, but I know that those upgrades put it over the top. In fact, I checked out the facts for the closest competitor I could find, Cold Stone Creamery, and found out that even their smallest offering, the Like It-sized serving, is over three times as large as that half-cup serving we are supposed to have. And guess what that does to the GL, my friends? It suddenly turns ice cream into a glycemic nightmare. If you don't believe me, check out one of my favorite websites, NutritionData.com and see the GL of your favorite flavor for yourself. Fortunately for me, they don't have a listing for "Ben & Jerry's Free Cone, Super-sized for Maximum Cellular Damage." 


On the flipside, size matters in another way. If you split a treat--or any food for that matter--with someone, you can cut your glycemic load in half. Assuming you're not a territorial pig who eats all but one bite. And assuming you and that someone can agree on ice cream flavors, which would never happen in our home. The Hubs is a wonderful man, but let's just say that his taste in women is, in general, far superior to his taste in ice cream flavors. His ice cream choices don't exactly raise the bar too high for his taste in women, but if you're reading this, I trust you think he's done all right in choosing a life partner. I mean, I ran a half-marathon for crying out loud. That trumps lame-o Strawberry Cheesecake ice cream any day of the week.

Wanna know what we did when we went home from Free Cone Day? Watched Biggest Loser and did crunches during commercial breaks. How ironic is that?

Whatsa Matter For You? Offending My Ancestors, One Food Group at a Time

There's a rule for members of the media known as the Equal Time Rule. Basically, one has to give equal air time to opposing political candidates so that the public does not receive incomplete or biased information that may influence the results of an election. As a new member of this social media forum known as blogging, I seek to honor that rule in today's post by following up my assault on Irish food by criticizing more of my ancestors in a rebuttal attack on Italian food.* I feel this is critical to ensure that a) everyone knows that I do not love my Italian ancestors more than my Irish ancestors and b) there will not be some Occupy Potato Fields movement that leads to an American version of the great Irish Potato Famine of the 1840s, which, incidentally is how my people came here in the first place. Which, also, incidentally, was not caused by an Occupy movement.

Do you remember how whenever your parents punished you as a kid they assured you that it would hurt them more than it hurt you? At the time, it seemed like a bunch of crock, but allow me to preface my critique of Italian food with that same adage. There is hardly a food more painful for me to criticize than Italian food. Some of my fondest memories revolve around foods like spaghetti, meatballs and chicken cutlets that my Mom learned to make from her grandfather, and the pizza joint that my family had a standing reservation at on Saturday nights until the owners divorced and Stella's shut down before consulting us. There has hardly been a darker day in our family chronicles than that Saturday at 4:00 p.m. when we pulled into the parking lot and found that we would not be getting our two 18" cheese pizzas and order of garlic knots anymore. Like war-torn refugees, we had to search for another pizza place to call home. Even now, I get emotional when I drive by where Stella's used to be. (Stops writing to recover)

Believe me, I am not here to criticize the Italians on flavor, but to let you know that your body may have a less idealistic view of your Italian food than your brain does. Most Italian foods, at least from the group I just mentioned, have one thing (other than amazing taste) in common: a sky-high glycemic load that will send your blood sugar hitting rock bottom faster than a Mob boss can make you sleep with the fishes. Consider these facts: just one cup of pasta has a glycemic load of 21, and a slice of pizza has a glycemic load of 20. You want your entire meal to have a glycemic load of 20--tops--and under 11 if you're serious about losing weight. Once again, I'm going to propose that Snickers (GL of 21) replace spaghetti as the perfect pairing with meatballs.


And in case you're not up to speed on how glycemic load (GL) works, you need to know that  every time you comply with an Italian's cry of "Mangia! Mangia!" --that's, "Eat! Eat!" for those of you who didn't have a great-grandfather telling you that at family dinners--you are increasing the GL and the consequent blood sugar impact on your body.  If a little old lady who looks like Tomie dePaola's Strega Nona just heaped a few ladles full of pasta on your plate, there's a good chance that your one cup serving just turned into four or five cups, causing the GL to increase by just that much! You could seriously end up eating 105 GL worth of pasta at one sitting. (If you do the math, 21x5=sugar coma.)  At that point, you should have just had a box of donuts for a relatively modest GL of 92. (Insert sarcasm font here) I'll let you do your own math with the number of pizza slices you usually eat, but I can tell you that the good folks at Stella's always had six happy, nearly-comatose customers walk out of their restaurant after those pies were consumed. Couple the GL of one pizza slice with the fact that most pizza also has 450 calories and 25 grams of fat per slice, and you have a recipe for delicious disaster inside your body.

You may think that by ignoring these facts you can blissfully go on eating your favorite foods. The truth is, your body does not see ignorance as bliss. Bashing my absolute favorite foods is not something I do for fun; I have just had my eyes opened wide to the long-term consequences of things like weekly stops at Stella's, and I want to make sure you know what you're dealing with before some mobster like Tony Soprano orders a hit on your health. I get super freaked out about high GLs not because I don't like counting higher than 20 (OK, I don't, but that's irrelevant), but because I've seen the consequences of high GL foods, and they're not pretty. High GL foods cause central weight gain, which offends my vanity as a girl and offends my health as a human being. Central weight gain is one of the first signs of insulin resistance, a condition where our bodies simply fail to process all the sugar we throw their way and store it as fat instead, and it's a precursor to diabetes. High GL foods also cause things like elevated blood pressure and triglyceride levels, and even put us at risk for heart disease. It also causes a type of inflammation in our cells that can manifest later as all sorts of horrible diseases like cancer. So when I encourage you to look at the food you eat in a different light, it's not because I hate pizza. I love the stuff, but, truthfully, it's probably a blessing I don't get my weekly fix anymore.


But, because hope springs eternal, not all is lost! There are plenty of ways to make your Italian food a little better for you! In fact, the real pizza inventors from Naples make their pizzas way differently than New York style pizza (which I always believed to be "real" Italian pizza), and it turns out it's better for you! Using techniques like smaller, thinner crusts, coupled with less cheese and more vegetables turns a glycemic nightmare into a whole pie that has under 1,000 calories! Additionally, pairing  your carbs with lean proteins is a great way to reduce the overall blood sugar impact of your meal.  Would my Great-Grandfather cringe to hear I use turkey instead of ground round to make my meatballs? Yes. But it's a little step I can take to keep me celebrating my Italian roots just a little bit longer. Just as a side note, there isn't an *exact* way to measure the benefit, so don't go crazy and think, "Well, just two meatballs and my pasta doesn't even count against me!" It really isn't that simple. But I'll tell you what is...


For a cool trick that you can try at home, check out this gluten-free pizza recipe that eliminates the guilt of a hand-tossed crust altogether! Once again, cauliflower is incognito, and it makes for great family treat that will have you seeking out a new favorite pizza joint -- one right in your own kitchen!


Mangia, my friends!






*[Editor's Note: Waist Management, as a very small media establishment, may be exempt from the above FCC regulation. Case law has determined that any media outlets with a following of less than three persons need not conform to these restrictions. While we have repeatedly emphasized this condition to the author, she has stubbornly asserted that by December 21 of this year, she will have no less than four followers, and is therefore to be commended for her foresight in compliance. What she does not take into account is that, according to the Mayans, the world will end on this very day, and, therefore, her compliance with FCC regulations will fail to be noted.] Yes, you just wasted 20 seconds of your life reading a made-up editorial note.

You Say Potato, I Say......Let's Call the Whole Thing Off

I feel I should beg my Irish ancestors forgiveness for the post I am about to write. Today I will be ranting against the staple vegetable of the Irish diet: the beloved potato. Only in this blog will you read that Oreos are good, and a vegetable is bad. But that's how I roll. 


Normally, as a health educator, I am a big advocate for all things that even look like a vegetable. Heck, I have even used garbanzo beans in a brownie recipe. True story. But a tuber that poses as a vegetable while having a higher glycemic load than a Snickers bar is like a wolf in sheep's clothing. Besides, you know how I feel about Snickers bars. Given the choice between a bar of crunchy goodness and a harmful vegetable, I'll vote to make meat and Snickers the new Irish classic.


(Pulls self away from that glorious food fantasy) As I was saying, potatoes are about the only vegetable I know that actually can do you more harm than good.  With a GL of 26--a number that is virtually a guarantee for weight gain--this veggie can send you on the path to diabetes quicker than Oreos or Fruity Pebbles. No, really. It's easy to trick yourself into thinking, "But at least they don't have any added sugar." Well, I'm here to tell you that your body could care less about added sugar or food labels. It only cares about what happens to the  blood glucose level when you feed it. And potatoes do not make it very happy. They send your blood sugar on a wild, crazy trip that will leave your body begging for "normal" stuff like Oreos. Like a vengeful cat who has been left alone for one too many weekends, it will find a way to make you regret your choice. Enter lethargy, insulin resistance, and eventually diabetes. Which really is way worse than finding cat crap outside the litter box. But I digress.


A lot of people don't seem to care. Consider this list of the top three vegetables that kids are eating these days:
                                                    

                                                     Potatoes

                                                     Tomatoes
                                                     Lettuce


Well, two out of three ain't bad, you may be thinking. Um, nope. Not when you consider that most of the potatoes are french fries, most of the tomatoes are ketchup, and most of the lettuce is that one little leaf they put on the fast food burgers for decoration.  So, if it weren't for fast foods, our kids would barely be getting vegetables at all. That statement should be enough to make even a junk food junkie cringe.


But I have some good news to top off all my tuber-hating. First, weirdly enough, french fries actually have a lower GL than baked potatoes. As long as you don't eat a super-sized box by yourself, you can save yourself about 4 GL points eating those lard-ridden potato sticks. Remember my defense of Paula Deen and her butter? Same principle applies here: the added fat slows down the digestion of the potato into sugar. But it doesn't make them good for you. If you like your spuds mashed, the news gets a bit better: those Thanksgiving classics have a GL of about 18.


And since not all tubers are equally offensive, I am excited about this link to a  super scrumptious garlic mashed potato recipe that combines the glycemic superstar of the potato family--the baby red has a GL of 12-- with the highly adaptable potato poser we in the health industry like to refer to as cauliflower.  This is a great substitute at Thanksgiving and for belated St. Patty's Day celebrations. Believe me, this recipe is so good that only your blood sugar will be able to tell the difference. Your tastebuds won't even know you're pulling a fast one on them. 


I hope adding the potato recipe puts me back in the good graces of my Irish ancestors. Since I ended up endorsing potatoes in the end, I guess we'll call the calling off...off.