I’m having issues (yes, story of my life).  I mean issues with food (yes, story of my life).  What I’m trying to say is some food I’ve been eating over the last year has been giving me trouble.  At first I thought it was stress (and why not?  I’ve got three teens, and ex and a full-time job …. seriously Jessica?).  But, I don’t feel stressed and I run about a billion miles a week to avoid that stress.

One summer afternoon last year, I had lunch with a friend.  He told me he was gluten free because of some symptoms, which had totally resolved once he got off gluten.  Hmm, I thought. I have those same symptoms.  But, I said, “I am NOT giving up bread.  I’m Jessica and I’m a bread-alcoholic.”  Eventually, however, I forced myself to bite the gluten free bullet and lo and behold, not one more symptom like that. So, instead of all my bread, I increased my protein — my chicken!

Then, about 5 months ago, things changed.  I tried to ignore it but I couldn’t.  My training friends were all on a cleanse and while I had no desire to try that, I did start eliminating the obvious culprits to my not-so-happy stomach.  First, sugar.  Then dairy.  Then fructose. Then nuts (high fat).  Nothing was changing except my attitude (which was cranky).  Notice how I did not give up wine!

One day, when I was feeling totally fine, I decided to have a nice grilled chicken breast.  Within 10 minutes I had that feeling like Meg Ryan on French Kiss when she eats the cheese on the train.  S***.  Please don’t let it be my chicken.  I love my white meat.  I eat it every day.  It’s my happy meat!

I refused to believe it was the chicken. After all, I’ve been eating it my whole life.  But two weeks ago, I decided to go off.  And, now I have to admit … my love affair with chicken is no more.

What the hell am I going to eat?  I stand in front of the fridge and all I see are little chickens: chicken meatballs, chicken in white sauce, chicken tater tot casserole.  Yikes.

Look, I’m fine getting older.  I’m ok with the wrinkles and the sags.  I’m fine that I have to dress my “age.”  But please don’t tell me I have to be a gluten-free vegan.  Really?  That’s disgusting.

Well, for now I’m just going to accept my new normal.  I’m feeling better and that’s great.  But, I’m not ready to call my self a vegan and if you see me secretly eating chicken outside my back door and then laying on the floor afterwards – just leave me there.  Sometimes, a girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do.

Here’s to hoping that this too passes – like pimples, bell bottoms and high school boy friends. 🙂

Have a great start to your weekend!