Raw Food

My parents have a dog named Kodiak. She's a beautiful dog with a ridiculously docile personality. The kind of dog that even cat lovers can't help but say hello to. 

A few years ago, Kody wasn't doing that well. She was lethargic. She had skin problems. Her coat didn't look very healthy. My sister, who had worked at a veterinary clinic years earlier, suggested that my parents put her on a raw food diet. 

By her I mean the dog, not my sister. 

So my parents decided to give it a try. 

At first, it was kinda crazy. It took them a while to figure out what to feed her, how much to feed her, where to buy the stuff etc etc. And poor Kody didn't know what to make of the whole thing. She went from getting cans of dog food plopped on top of dry dog food to being handed a chicken back and some kidneys for dinner. Apparently the first time they handed her a chicken back, she ran around the back yard with it in her mouth yelping. Then she dropped it and ran away. Repeated the process a few times and finally ate it. 

After that rather awkward start, they developed a system together and now Kodiak looks fabulous, has regained her energy and loves her new diet. And my parents have a freezer full of single serving dog meals. 

Kodiak now eats better than the humans do. 

I've gone to my parents' house on several occasions to find my mother roasting sweet potatoes in the toaster oven. "Don't eat those! They're for the dog." The bag of spinach on the counter? "For the dog." The freezer full of meat? You guessed it. 

For the dog.

I have house sat for my parents a few times and have had to feed poor Kody her dinner. The instruction list is, as follows: 

• take one container of raw animal products out of the freezer first thing in the morning and leave it out to thaw 
• at dinner time, open container
• add some spinach. Kody likes it broken up and mixed into the food. Don't just dump it on top. 
• add another vegetable (roasted sweet potatoes, squash, pumpkin whatever). Mix it in - she likes it better that way
• serve with a glass of chilled white wine. She prefers Riesling. 

Last night, I came home from my run and popped two sweet potatoes in the toaster oven. I steamed some broccoli and cooked up some quinoa. I was making one of my favourite creations - a big bowl full of yummy stuff with a bit of olive oil and tamari drizzled on top. As I piled everything in, tossed an avocado and some goat cheese on for good measure and drizzled on my toppings...this twisted little voice in my head said "I bet this would be perfect with some chicken feet."

Growing Gills

I swam 25 metres yesterday.

Underwater.

Without dying.

And I’m pretty freakin’ proud of myself.

At least once a week for the past month or so, I’ve tried it. Once my lengths were done, I would stand in the shallow end and take 8 deep breaths. I made myself take 8 because I learned after the first few tries that I would just keep taking deep breaths in order to avoid actually attempting the swim. Now I take 8 and do a little countdown in my head.

Actually, it’s a countup from 1 to 8 but still. Once I hit 8, I have to go. No excuses.

Last week, I made it about 5 feet from the wall. Instead of being disappointed, I got excited. Because I knew that meant I would make it all the way the next time I tried.

So on Monday morning, I took 8 deep breaths, dropped down below the surface and started. I did my patented swim across the pool under water move which is kinda like the breast stroke with the odd strong flutter kick thrown in for extra propulsion.

At the halfway mark, the bottom of the pool drops off. Instead of following it down, I try to just keep swimming at the same depth. I followed it down the first time I tried this and learned the hard way that that just makes the surface harder to get to.

Speaking of surface, after another stroke or two  I started surfacing – I just couldn’t help it.

I had to breathe.

The top of my head broke the surface but I my face was still submerged. Lungs aching, I could see the wall just ahead so I desperately gave one last pull and…touched!

I burst out and couldn’t even stop myself from taking a huge, loud, satisfying lungful of air.

I did it!

Not exactly a life-changing moment but it’s pretty cool to look back across the pool and think “yeah, I swam that”

I came home and announced my accomplishment.

Doug inspected my neck for gills, gave me a high five and a “good job baby” and handed me my breakfast. 

Let the week begin.

Kale Chips

I'm pretty adventurous when it comes to food. Other than cod tongue - there isn't much I don't enjoy and there's even less that I just plain won't eat.

And, for the record, cod tongue is pretty freakin' disgusting. Trust me, you don't want to eat it either.

I spent the entire day on Saturday in Toronto with my little sis. We did our usual thing which means we walked all over the place, we ate out for breakfast, lunch and dinner, we laughed and talked and we checked out all sorts of cool stores.

Stores that sold only Hello Kitty stuff. Stores that had paid male models standing outside looking unrealistically beautiful. Pen stores, makeup stores, hand cream stores and stores where we went in simply because we knew they had the nicest bathrooms.

Our favourite moment was when we were in Sephora and a cute little blonde girl had obviously been trying out the makeup samples. And her parents were obviously not watching her while she did it. She ran by us with lipstick that rivalled the Joker's and eye shadow that went up over her eyebrows. She was looking very proud of her artistry skills. We doubled over in laughter and figured her parents should be grateful she didn't paint her face with waterproof mascara or nail polish.

Then there was our spontaneous purchase in the health food store. We found a great place that had a pretty good price on Vega as well as blueberry-flavoured Larabars so I was stocking up. On the way out, we noticed bags of kale chips. Kale chips, if you read blogs written by the health-conscious folks out there, are all the rage. They are apparently so tasty that people actually go to the trouble of buying dehydrators, mixing chopped kale with various toppings (cheese etc) and dehydrating them overnight. One blogger I read last week said it was impossible to keep them in the house for more than a day because her vegetable-hating husband kept eating them.

Bags of kale chips sat by the counter and we decided to join the growing number of kale chip fans. We discussed flavour options and settled on salted kale with pumpkin seeds. We forked over $6.99 for the bag but we knew it would be totally worth it. Everyone is talking about them AND we would get 400% of our daily vitamin C just by nibbling on them as we walked down Bloor Street. We had barely walked out of the store before I had the bag ripped open.

Pay attention folks because this next part is really important.

Kale chips. Are. Disgusting.

Like cod tongue disgusting.

We ate one and it tasted like seaweed. We both like kale and we both like nori and other seaweed-tasting stuff so we decided that the first one was gross simply because we weren't expecting the taste. I shook up the bag to disperse the salt and pumpkin seeds a bit and we tried another one. Nope, still really gross. A few more just to make sure and then we closed the bag as the nausea set in. "Omigod they are SO gross" complained my little sis. "Omigod your teeth are completely green" I replied. Green bits of dried kale stuck between every tooth. She looked like something in a horror movie.

Mine were no better.

Seriously, who are the crazy people out there who think eating dehydrated kale and then spending the next 20 minutes flossing is worth it?

We parked ourselves on a bench in downtown Toronto and took turns sharing the one tiny mirror we had between us, picking green stuff out of our teeth. We must have been quite a sight to behold as we used the hard plastic edge of the kale chip bag to remove particularly stubborn pieces. Every time we thought we were done, more would appear. Even an hour later. Bah!

We made our way to Fresh for dinner, a great place that serves super healthy food. I ordered a delicious-sounding Healthy Bowl with soba noodles, grilled veggies, sprouts, avocado and goat cheese. I also ordered a bowl of steamed green on the side because I was craving spinach and broccoli so I figured my iron must be on the low side again.

Dinner appeared and I was handed a fabulous looking bowl of noodles...

...with a side of steamed kale.

Twisted

When I was first diagnosed with diabetes, my glucometer seemed like such a nice chap. He would regularly greet me with a friendly 'Hi' when I checked my blood sugar.

These days, I still get the occasional 'Hi' but they're pretty few and far between. For the most part, he just quietly does his thing.

Ah yes - diabetes humour.

Those who get it, get it. Those who don't - well, just read it again a few times - you'll figure it out.

Like when you see a sign for diabetic chocolate and you feel bad for the poor little things. Who knew chocolate could even get diabetes?....ba dum tish!

I don't have a lot of diabetes jokes per se but I sure spend a lot of my time poking fun at the whole situation using my favourite kind of humour - the sick, twisted kind.

If someone complains about another person who is being a real jerk, I've been known to lean in and whisper "do you want to borrow my insulin needle? One little injection will solve all your problems. They won't even feel it..."

When my mother eyes the candy stash in my purse I always share with her with clear instructions "just leave enough for me so I don't die".

When my pump beeps and co-workers look at it with fear in their eyes, the looks on their faces can be pretty priceless when I respond with "omigod I'm dying!".

Even the other night when I headed out to the first T1 of Niagara meet up - never having seen these people before, I wanted to make sure I was at the right table. I knew without hesitation that, if I had picked the right group, they would totally laugh at the question "are you the folks with diabetes?".

They were and they did.

There's a certain dark humour that develops when you live your life with a chronic disease. Everyone I've met with T1 seems to have it.

I wonder...perhaps dark humour is one of the first diabetes complications that manifests itself after diagnosis? Maybe we've looked pain and death in the face one too many times and it's a little less scary when we can laugh at it. Maybe being twisted actually predisposes one to the 'betes.

Whatever the reason - it does help to make the dark times a little lighter. And it's super fun to throw zingers out there and have a table full of people laugh rather than look in horror.

We might not have a secret handshake but there are other ways we can find ourselves in a crowd.

Moderate Excess

There aren't too many things that I do to excess but there are lots of things I do...a lot.

I eat...a lot. I eat chocolate, candy, fruit, bread, cookies, date squares, hot apple crisp with melted chocolate on top, mango salad, shrimp skewers, crispy apples dipped in peanut butter, t-bone steaks, maple fudge..you name it, I eat it - with relish. Well, not really with relish - I quite dislike relish to be honest. But I eat my food and I enjoy it.

But rarely to excess.

It's just not worth it.

I drink alcohol. To clarify, I drink red wine. I really really like red wine. Most nights of the week I have a glass or two. Occasionally a glass of white. Sometimes I'll sip a tumbler of whisky - neat.

But not to excess.

It's just not worth it.

I get lots of sleep. It's a rare night when I'm in bed for less than 8 hours and, despite waking up several times to check my sugar, I sleep for most of it. But I don't sleep to excess. I never lounge in bed until noon. In fact, 7:30am is a pretty sweet lazy morning.

As for exercise, I'm sure some people would argue that I exercise to excess. Perhaps they're right. It feels reasonable to me though, considering how many hours a day I sit, for me to move for an hour a day, every day. Two on Saturdays.

The whole point of this rather drawn out introduction is that I was thinking about diabetes and how it affects the daily decisions I make. Sometimes, diabetes encourages me to moderate my choices, other times it encourages me to push my limits.

It's relatively easy to exercise portion control when I know what overeating does to my blood sugar. Diabetes is a fabulous excuse when someone offers me a second piece of pie and diabetes keeps me honest because I have to bolus for that second piece. That fact alone often stops me just long enough to reconsider and say no.

It's pretty easy to limit alcohol to a glass or two (sometimes three if Erin is over) because it really is just too dangerous to have more than that. I never want to be unable to recognize a low blood sugar because I've had too much to drink. Add to that the fact that alcohol tends to lower blood sugar and it really is easy to say 'no thank you' to the third glass of wine.

On the other hand, diabetes is a great motivator to get lots of rest and lots of exercise. Diabetes is the never-ending voice in my head that says I should be out there taking care of my heart, my lungs, and my body. Diabetes forces me to take my health seriously.

Based on my blood pressure, cholesterol, heart rate, diet, weight and fitness level - I'm a pretty healthy gal. Add diabetes to the list and I automatically fall in the same health risk category as someone who is overweight or a smoker.

Imagine where I would fall if I didn't do all these things?

'nuff said.

T1s in Real Time

Normally, by 8pm on a weeknight, I'm sitting on the couch in my comfy clothes sipping a glass of wine or, when I'm feeling particularly lazy or tired, I'm already in bed reading my book. It's pretty safe to assume that no one out there is going to describe me as a party girl.

That's why it's particularly shocking that, on Monday night at 8pm, I was sitting in Starbucks. With four complete strangers.

When I got there, there were two people already sitting at a table. They both looked at me - and I looked at them. Is it them? I asked the most obvious question I could think of to make sure I was at the right table "Hi, do you guys have diabetes?".

I'm happy to report that I was indeed at the right table. It would have been pretty awkward if I wasn't non? I introduced myself to Shannon and Peter, grabbed my steamed milk with a shot of vanilla and met the last two recruits, Tanya and Greg, when they walked in a few minutes later.

The first meeting of the T1s of Niagara group had officially come to order.

What a random band of ragamuffins we were. Diabetes brought us together and, even though we all ended up at that Starbucks table on a Monday night in April, it was quite obvious that everyone's journey to get there was utterly unique

Three of us were diagnosed as kids. Two of us were not.

Three of us went to diabetes camp. Two us of did not.

Two of us are on the pump. Three of us are not.

Two of us have diabetes complications. Three of us do not.

Two people have had diabetes for so long that they remember urine testing rather than blood glucose testing. Another remembers having to wait two whole minutes for the glucometer to give the blood sugar reading. When I was diagnosed, glucometers took 30 seconds to spit out the number. Now, it's five seconds.

We learned that those of us who were diagnosed as adults have a different take on how important it is to be as healthy as possible compared to those who have never known anything but diabetes. Those of us who were diagnosed as kids are more worried about complications - those of us diagnosed as adults are more worried - period.

We learned that it never really gets easier, no matter how long you have diabetes. Whether we've had it for three years or 36 years - we still struggle with the same ups and downs.

We talked about how annoying it is when diabetes is described as a 'condition'. For the record: a disease is an illness and a condition is the state of someone's health. So when people say things like 'because of your condition blah blah blah' we get annoyed. And rightfully so.

We agreed that diabetes makes us tough as nails and there isn't much that scares us anymore.

We compared doctors. We compared horror stories. 

All in just over an hour.

It's a very interesting social experiment when you think about it. Five complete strangers who really don't have that much in common sit around a table and bond in a way most people never do simply because we all have a busted pancreas.

That's pretty cool.

And I can't wait to be out late on a school night to do it again.

Worst Case Scenario

On Saturday, after my long run, I had to rush through my stretching and icing routine, shower, dress and head out the door.

We had a Cabot Trail Relay Race date...

...with some of our opponents.

Apparently there are three teams from Niagara heading to Cape Breton in less than a month.

Considering the craziness of this whole event, I find it pretty surprising that there are three groups of 17 runners from our neck of the woods. Even crazier is that the other two groups have done this race multiple times - in fact one group has run it 11 years in a row.

I feel like we're preparing to embark on some weird, cult-like adventure. I'm guessing there will be secret handshakes...

Anyway, so on Saturday, a run was scheduled and runners from all three groups gathered to do either a 9k, 14k or 17k run together. I had 20k to run and I wasn't about to join the speed demons so I did my run and joined them afterwards for the potluck lunch. I walked into a house of fabulously fit people and did my best to blend.

We feasted on some delicious, healthy, runner food which included salmon, quinoa salad, mango salad, saag paneer and banana bread. We watched a video (on VHS - which felt so 90s) of a race from a few years ago. It was very helpful because we could see what runners in each leg were going to be facing and we also got a sense of how busy the roads get with all the runners and support vehicles. Halfway through the video, I turned to Klari and said "I'm glad we're all signed up and everyone has paid for their flight before we watched this". She laughed and agreed wholeheartedly. It's pretty intimidating to watch a video of a runner struggling up a hill only to have the camera zoom out and see how much farther they still have to climb.

Glad I'm driving...

"So" says Klari, "you ran 20k today eh? That's great that you're all recovered."

Yeeesssss...?

"So, if we needed you to run a leg of the relay, you could."

ummmmmm...

See, one of our runners is injured. We're still crossing our fingers that he might be able to pull it off but we need a contingency plan. And, because of how easy it is to get injured, we really need a contingency plan for that contingency plan. So, apparently I'm now a possible contingency.

Here's the deal. There are several reasons why I agree to drive for these relays rather than run.

• I'm faster than I was but I'm not fast. Runners eat up the road out there and there's no part of me that wants to watch the herd pull away and struggle on behind them. 
• I have diabetes (yep, I admit it) and I'm ok with crazy blood sugars ruining a race for me but the thought of being out there with a van load of people supporting me and having to walk because my sugar is 20...or 2.0 just plain sucks. I don't like when diabetes affects other people and I don't want us to come in fourth because Céline had a low. 
• I have a half marathon that I'm training for which is the very next weekend. I don't want to run the Cabot Trail and leave my half marathon somewhere on the East Coast. 

But I get it. We might be in trouble and we might need to ask a runner, or even two, to run more than one leg. Considering the difficulty of the terrain, that's a lot to ask.

So I made it very clear that me running was the worst case scenario but that I would do it...as long as I got the shortest, easiest leg of the run.

And now we leave it up to the running gods to decide my fate.