Keto: Why Bother?
/It's tempting, when looking around, to see other people in a good light and, in comparison, to judge ourselves harshly. Even as we engage in self-improvement activities, trying to be our best selves, we can get the momentum knocked out of us when we think, incorrectly or not, that everyone else is happily coasting through their day. Other people appear to glide along on metaphorical figure skates without bumps, stumbles, or glitches. On the other hand, we get run over by a Zamboni we never saw coming. Them? Awesome and carefree. Us? Flattened and defeated.
I write, of course, about how we compare our weight, the size of our clothing, and our excess flesh to that of others. Often, juxtaposing them to us impacts our self-esteem, and not in a good way. The raison d'être for this site is to encourage readers to let that s#it go and to put on blinders to what other people 'get away with' eating. We should move past our personal pity parties about the general unfairness of being burdened with a metabolism that rejoices in tormenting us. (I know, I know. Anthropomorphising metabolism is a stretch. But, dang, if it doesn't feel like unseen forces are sometimes working against us!)
Even though I want to be a voice of hope, reassurance, and support, I can't help but recognize—and recall from personal pre-keto experiences—that overcoming disappointment, tinged with pessimism, is difficult.
After our attempts and "strumbles" (a portmanteau of the words 'struggle' and 'stumble' that I blurted out while recording a video on a very early and pre-coffee morning), and feeling that other people strumble not, we may be tempted to throw up our hands, raise the white flag and ask, "Why bother?"
I've been there, at the point where surrender seems better than the slog of trying to right the wayward ship that was my body. Fat, achy, embarrassing. And that was just the part others could see. The pain of thinking that I was beyond the beyonds regarding my weight was even worse. The thought of losing weight seemed as hopeless as the idea of jogging up a hill or wearing a bathing suit in public—both of which I did during the 'Summer of the triathlons, although 'jogging' may be a generous term for what I did. I was still in the move more/eat less frame of mind, so I hauled my sizeable arse up puny inclines, rode my bike, and relearned to swim. I hoped that I'd my efforts and all the humilition would result in the reward of some weight loss.
Uh, nope. At least, not much. The scale recorded a measly eleven-pound loss over nearly six months of training and several spring-level swim/bike/run events across the state. They still whooped me. Talk about wondering, 'Why bother?' Do you mean that after all that effort, I was still nearly as far from my goal as when I started? It was like my body was the fishes and loaves equivalent to weight reduction: no matter how much I worked to burn off the fat, there was always just as much as in the beginning.
"Oh, balls!" as my father would say.
BEYOND KETO (with Casey)
PHoTO CREDIT: Casey Durango
The photo above is the latest of ‘things I never thought I do.’ This one shows sacks of coffee, harvested from our little farm near Apia, Risaralda, Colombia. It was coffee-selling day in town.
Witnessing the effort that goes into picking the beans—no heavy machinery to get the beans off the trees since they ripen at different rates so much be picked by hand—then drying, peeling, and bagging them gives an appreciation for my morning cuppa. And that doesn’t take into consideration the efforts of the young guys who hauled the sacks of our beans from our truck to the scale. And after all that work, they were cordial to offer me a cup of freshly brewed joe.
No, owning a coffee farm, watching the process to get the product to market, and being humbled by the generosity of hardworking guys: these are not things I ever expected. And I don’t think I’d have ever ventured away from my comfy den if I hadn’t changed my ways, changed my attitude, and changed my perspective. Heck, I might not have had the health to do so. Who knows? And who knows what comes next? I’m curious to find out!
I understand the sentiment of resigning oneself to accept the status quo, that change is sometimes too slow and too disheartening. If we give up, we can't be said to have failed. That is unless you believe what some motivational memes read. Things like "The only true failure is in giving up." There were times that if someone had come at me with a quote like that, I would have popped them right in the puss. Tell someone who's twice their appropriate body weight and has been for decades to 'just hang in there' and 'you got this' can be asking for a fight.
Yes, I get it: the temptation to chuck it all and dive into a basket of warm tortilla chips washed down with a syrupy Margarita.
But things changed for me. My perspective changed—almost in an instant. I stopped thinking about size ten jeans (I wore a size 24W) and about walking into a room, feeling like the fattest person in it. I stopped comparing myself to people who eat what they want and remain trim. I got over the cosmetics of my situation. I realized my health was more at stake than my superficial and supercilious opinion of myself. I felt bad. I wanted to feel better. I didn't want to spend another thirty years, or however long I might have, residing in a body that not only embarrassed me but was on the verge of failing me. Instead of looking at how people eat without care or self-consciousness, I started noticing how some people struggled to move throughout their day and through the world. How many people I knew were thinner than I but on fistfuls of medications? And when businesses start providing banks of motorized scooters because so much of the population can barely walk the aisles to shop?
None of this is judgment. It's an acknowledgment that I was on the cusp of those things. There was Type 2 Diabetes and high blood pressure in my future. By then, most of my joints, from my ankles to my shoulder to my fingers, ached. Flights of stairs seemed to have gotten steeper and to be twice as long as before.
For me, the decision to lay off the carbs—and lay off the excuses—changed all that. I am healthy [insert the sound of wood being knocked], waking in the morning doesn't bring dread as to what new awfulness of aging will bring, and I don't compare myself to anyone else...mostly. (I am a human person, after all.) But I usually come off okay in contrast.
Oh, and I wear size six jeans. Score!
So, my 'why bother' is very clear. If you need help on that question, look around you when you're next out and about. Instead of wishing you were like the skinny folks, scarfing down boxes of Taco Bell takeout, be grateful that you're walking under your own accord, coming off some medications, or merely feeling more in charge of your fate.
All that is why we bother.
Disclaimer: I’m not a medical doctor, researcher, or Ph.D., but instead, I’ve been fortunate to have had the time and resources to research the ketogenic diet, also known as LCHF (low carb/high fat). The information I share is based solely on my understanding of that research. We are all responsible for our own choices, including what we put in our mouths, and there’s no substitute for each of us checking things out ourselves. And I’m not a medical professional in any way. Go Keto With Casey is not a medical site. “Duh,” you might say. But best to make it clear to all. I welcome questions, comments, and even civil criticism. I’m still learning. So, if you have something to add, go for it. Links in this post and all others may direct you to affiliate links, where I will receive a small amount of the purchase price of any items you buy through those links. Thanks!
