We baby boomers have lived long enough to see the food pyramid turn into the nutrition plate. What’s more, the foods on that plate — what’s good for you, what’s bad for you — have changed. Which is driving Larry Checco of Silver Springs, Maryland, a little mad. What he’s discovered is, Fleet of Foot Trumps Fleeting Diets Every Time!
What are health-conscious boomers to believe, especially those of us aging along with heart disease?!
For decades we were given dire warnings of how the consumption of fatty foods, especially those that come from red meat and dairy products, would bring us to an early end.
Now we’re being told that scientists, who once labeled fat as our enemy, were wrong.
A recent cover story in Time Magazine reports, “Now it’s becoming clear that even the saturated fat found in a medium rare steak or a slab ofbutter—public enemies Nos. 1 and 2—has a more complex and, in some cases, benign effect on the body than previously thought.”
After all those years, nay, decades, of resisting— sometimes successfully, sometimes not— buttered toast, ice cream and the occasional steak, we’re now told that fat is not the death knell we had originally thought. In fact, it might actually be good for us.
I give up!
In fact I gave up on dietary advice years ago when science started to rehabilitate eggs. Were you a consumer of egg-white-only Egg Beaters?
Turns out the yolk was on us.
Instead, I eat everything in moderation— and exercise daily.
In contrast to strict dietary restrictions, daily exercise has never wavered in the pantheon of good counsel.
That’s why most mornings will find me on a three-mile walk through my neighborhood.
No ear buds funneling music or news into my brain. No, this is my time to blot out the world and listen to my own precious heartbeat for awhile.
No stopwatch to measure whether I’m keeping up with yesterday’s pace. Nope, I’m not competing for anything but my own thoughts, peace of mind, and serenity.
As I pass my neighbors’ homes with a sense of comfort and familiarity, I can feel my blood coursing through my veins, feeding and activating my brain, gently, quietly prepping me for my day.
These mornings constitute what I refer to as SMOJs— spontaneous moments of joy.
Hey, I’m no doctor. Nor do I play one on TV. I’m just saying, this works for me— and it might work for you, as well.
It’s certainly worth a thought as you spread that newly rehabilitated pat of butter over your morning toast.