This picture is actually a card that somebody once gave me. Somebody that obviously knows me very well. For those of you who don’t, I’ll say this: I speed-walk, I swim, I work out, I dance, and on most days, all of the above. As of this Sunday, I will also be a certified instructor in ZumbaFitness, which, to borrow the card’s words, might simply be called “high intensity speed aerobics.” But to use the rest of the card’s words, I should add that I am also a certified, and champion, (chain) smoker. So make what you wish of my virtue, but please allow me my vice.
And seriously, don’t smoke and swim. I tried. It doesn’t work.
HAVEYOUHEARD?...of orthorexia? Apparently it’s a type of eating disorder, “characterized by a focus on eating healthy foods.” Basically the idea is something like this: When we speak of health, or healthy eating, in all its multifarious dimensions, we could quite possibly find something “unhealthy” in just about anything. Anything that tastes good, that is. So, if you’re going to go down the gluten-free, dairy-free, sugar-free, preservative-free, cholesterol-free, joy-free route…where it ultimately leads you, is to a destination that is essentially food-free. And for someone who has an eating disorder, that is, doesn’t want to eat, for whatever reason, this is the perfect excuse. Rather than saying “I don’t want that cheeseburger because I’m fat and that burger will make me fatter,” they can say, “I don’t want that cheeseburger because that cheeseburger has ketchup on it and that ketchup has E-6734 in it.” Or, “I don’t want that cheeseburger because my doctor told me to avoid gluten, or dairy…or pleasure.” Then, they pop a dietary supplement pill and proceed to glare yearningly at the fries. This is why, I imagine, all dietary supplements come with the warning: “Food supplements must not be used as a substitute for a varied and balanced diet and a healthy lifestyle.” I don’t speak doctor very well, but I think what this means is, “Nice try, but you can’t live on pills, doofus.”
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So, first things first, don’t worry mom, I don’t have it. The reason I begin with orthorexia, is partly because I’m going to write about health, healthy eating, and one health food store in particular. But the other reason I thought an eating disorder might be a good place to start is because eating disorders are all about contradictions—starve, then binge (binge-eating), or binge then throw up (bulimia), or lose weight but feel fatter (anorexia). And though I don’t and have never suffered from any of these, being a speed-walking, swimming and super-fit smoker…let's face it, I’m all about the contradictions.
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Perhaps the first contradiction in all of this is that I am an absolute epicurean, if not hedonist, when it comes to food. Suffice it to say that if I could choose to be reincarnated as anything in the whole wide world, I would probably ask to come back as a stick of butter. So, the idea of health food stores, (as with the idea of eating disorders), is quite alien to me, if not one I chuck under that general umbrella of “bullshit.” And yet, I have lately become a health food fanatic. Actually, I’m not so much a fanatic of the food itself, but more of the shop that I get it from, and even that’s a bit of a stretch because I’m actually just a fanatic of the lady who works there.
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Note: I don’t think my obsessive trips to Health Craze should be read as any indication of orthorexia. Rather, I see them as wholly symptomatic of a whole other disorder (or vice) that I admittedly and guiltily suffer from—shopaholism. Turns out it doesn’t matter whether its stilettos or supplements. It’s all about the Benjamins. Incidentally, it was Benjamin Franklin who once said, “Search others for their virtues, thy self for thy vices.” And I see a lot of virtue in that Benji, but what to do when you are my vice?
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It all started late one Sunday night. (The lady was still working at 9.30pm on a Sunday!—read: virtue). I walked in there…described my symptoms, and with a quick look at my tongue and a short “hmmm,” she concluded: “No grapes, no orange juice, no raw tomatoes.” Considering I pretty much lived on these three things, and so they quite probably were the cause of all my problems, I figured she was on to something. It was love at first prescription. “No beer, no wine,” she continued. It has hate at second. I was tempted to foolishly ask, “does that include champagne?” but knowing well and full that this “no” would break my heart, I slyly avoided it. “Spirits are OK though,” she then added. Annnndddd….we’re back in the game! (Also, I listened very carefully, and at no point in time did she say “no cigarettes,” so it was love at lack of prescription too.)
In addition to the list of nos, she gave me a handful of bottles saying…“take these once a day, and these twice…and, dear…try being a bit selfish.” (Somehow my tongue, or face, or something had also told her that I “care too much for other people and not enough for myself”). But, how often should I do that, I wondered. Instead of asking out loud however, I figured I’d just take the lack of specification to mean that it would be ok to overdose. So while I may not be orthorexic, I do see where they’re going with the whole “use health as an excuse” thing. Not for burgers though, but something like: sorry, I can’t be in this relationship anymore, my doctor told me to be selfish. Being selfish, it turns out, does wonders for your health.
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Anyhow, this morning, I ran out of one of my supplements, so I ran out to get some more. I left in such a hurry that upon returning home I discovered that I hadn’t even made my bed! Now, that may mean nothing to you, but I think the only other time in my life that I didn’t make my bed was one morning in New York when I stumbled out of a room at the Waldorf and couldn’t figure out how I got there or what my name was…but I think its fair to say I had greater concerns than making the bed. Besides, there’s housekeeping for that. I did however, manage to grab the most adorable little Waldorf Astoria jar of gummie bears on my way out. If I recall correctly, I think I ate every single one of them on the way home and while you may be thinking “bulimia nervosa” I think it was more a case of “WTF-happened-last-night-nervosa,” or “dude-where’s-my-car-nervosa,” if you will. But moving on swiftly. That was all clearly, before my health fanatic era. Or perhaps I should say…hence, the health fanatic era. (In case you were wondering, I still have the jar, and I still hope that one day it'll function as some Proustian memento and help me figure that night out).
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Anyhow. I got to the shop at 9.17 this morning, which according to the sign on the door, meant that it should have been open already. But it wasn’t. And as getting my fix was more important than anything else that needed doing, I decided to just wait. (Ah, the things we do for our dealers). Considering I was in my health fanatic uniform of trainers and top-to-toe lycra, I thought it all the more fitting that I stood there, as some sort of advertisement—a real, flesh and blood mannequin, you might say. Shop here, wear lycra, look like THIS!
But that commercial went from good to bad in less than a minute, when I did what we smokers do to pass the time and lit a cigarette. As Moliere said, “I prefer an interesting vice to a virtue that bores.” Which is to say, while patience is a virtue, smoking is more fun. Especially when you’re waiting. Incidentally, whenever I’ve stood at a bus stop with my dad, he’s said, “Let’s light a cigarette. That always makes the bus come.” My mother on the other hand, would say something along the lines of, “You’re going to have to throw it away when the bus comes anyway, so why don’t you just try not having one? Think of it as your first step towards stopping smoking...” Perhaps I should blame my contradictory upbringing for my contradictory attitudes towards health?
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And while I’m totally with dad on that one, this morning, it didn’t work. Or maybe “health shop lady” is not the same as “bus.” I lit up and lit up, but to no avail. Eventually I gave up on both virtue and vice (patience and smoking) and speed-walked away (to the pool, actually). But while I was waiting, I did read through the countless newspaper articles stuck in her window…and what I discovered was that the same lady who had told me to “be a bit selfish” was the one of the most selfless people I knew. She has run this shop for over twenty years, sleeping only 4 (or no!) hours a night! Her sleepless nights are spent reading up on some new product she is thinking about stocking. Now, if that’s not virtue, I don’t know what is. So…where was she? Had she too, finally sacrificed her selfless and virtuous duty to pay a bit more attention to herself? Good for her, I thought. Sleep, like selfishness, is healthy too. Turns out, when it comes to health (and happiness too for that matter, for they are oh-so-linked), it isn’t always clear what’s a virtue, and what, a vice. It’s more a question of sacrifice. Sometimes we have to sacrifice what’s “selfless” for what’s “selfish;” or instead of a burger, to order the fish; sometimes we must smoke while we wait, and swim when we get fed up. That's what it means to be selfish: we have to decide for ourselves, which is virtue, which is vice, and which of the two is "healthier," "happier," or simply, best. That is, at least until we figure out how to smoke and swim at the same time.
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