Thursday, December 8, 2011

When you have to let go of your ideals in order to not be a fatty

I'm not a raw-food dieter (not even organic). I don't intend to someday give birth with a hypnosis and a doula. I shave my legs.

But that doesn't mean I don't have ideals, and I DO think that, to a point, the more natural something is, the better.

FOR EXAMPLE: fresh veggies over french fries, gardens and chickens and open space over inner city food deserts, used paperbacks over kindles, road runs over gyms.

Recently, my kindle has won me over with its handiness. I concede on that one count.

HOWEVER. I just got back from a road run, and I'm sorry to say I'm conceding there, too. It's time to sign the armistice, general. I'm done. Done done done. Because compared to finding myself on a strange street on a freezing cold afternoon when my stomach hurts and I'm about a million sluggish, jolting strides from home, a kindle plus a treadmill is magic. Magic, I tell you.

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