Before you imagine the worst. No, I’m fine, there’s nothing wrong with me. Nothing new at least and nothing that I know of—and what you don’t know, won’t kill you, right?
You’ve all probably heard the saying “Treat your body like a temple, not a woodshed” which—although attributed to the late Jim Rohn—apparently has its—sort of—origins from a verse in the Corinthians, though with a lot more of a “ick” -factor.
What, know ye not that your body is the Temple of the holy Ghost which is in you, which yee haue of God, and ye are not your owne? 1 Corinthians 6:19
I don’t know about you but I think that’s just kind of creepy. Especially the “ye are not your owne” -part.
For almost 30 years now I’ve treated my body, not as a temple, but as a trash can. A receptacle for cigarettes, alcohol, the occasional drugs, zero amount of exercise and consuming whatever crap food I could find.
It has taken quite a few beatings over the years, from scratches, bruises and minor flesh wounds to stitches, bone grafting and the car accident that almost took my life.
But since I’m still alive, I have to conclude that what I’m doing is clearly working so “Fuck you, I’m never changing!”
…
Or am I?
As you all know I quit paused smoking 1 year, 6 months and 21 days ago. It wasn’t easy… though to be fair, it wasn’t particularly hard either. I stopped cold turkey and whilst I certainly felt like punching people occasionally, and still do, I have managed to stay on the metaphorical wagon.
Of course I still have to remind myself that I get to start smoking again if or when I turn 77. Not that I’m counting— it’s 17,228 days—or anything. I’m totally not waiting for the day I can start smoking a pipe and be cool again.
Yeah, so not waiting for that.
Ahem. Anyway.
I also haven’t done any illegal drugs in at least 2 years so come to think of it, I really should revise this “receptacle” thing, shouldn’t I?
I treat my body as a receptacle for cigarettes, alcohol, the occasional drugs, zero amount of exercise and consuming whatever crap food I could find.
Now whilst I still drink alcohol, one beer on Friday and another one on Saturday—and document the ales I drink—my consumption has gone down drastically from the previous level of, prior to us moving to the UK, ~10 bottles per week.
So, I think I’ll leave in the “alcohol” -part for now but at least it’s gone from not healthy to actual being on reasonably healthy level. I say “reasonably” because in my quick research I couldn’t find a study to show what constitutes a healthy level of alcohol consumption.
Sure, I could easily find “You shouldn’t drink any more than this” -studies but that’s really not the same thing.
So until I have further evidence I’m just going to have to settle with “reasonably healthy”. I think that deserves some form of reward, don’t you?
Also, I’ve also found myself being less and less impressed with the flavour of processed foods and I instead want more healthier and wholesome foods.
A few months back I started to get this really weird craving. And when I say weird I mean; I started craving oatmeal porridge.
Oat-fucking-meal porridge. Jävla havregrynsgröt.
Of all the things people—who also aren’t women and/or pregnant—start craving, I would think that porridge doesn’t rate especially high on the list.
“My craving was bathroom spray. I was drawn to the detergents aisle in the supermarket. I had a spotless bathroom. I also had to fight the urge to drink the fabric conditioner. It smelt so good!” Dina
From the bottom of my heart, thank you Dina, for making my craving for oatmeal porridge seem perfectly normal.
Anyway.
So I went to the store and got myself some rolled oats, that was easy enough. But then I tried finding apple sauce because I’ve grown up with apple sauce on my oatmeal porridge and that’s just how I imagine it should be.
My local Sainsbury’s didn’t have any. Neither did Tesco or Morrisons. Finally I went to Marks & Spencer where I found their brand of Bramley Apple Sauce.
It wasn’t particularly delicious—meant to be put on pork—but it did the trick for the first week of my healthier lifestyle.
Knowing full well I couldn’t continue with the store-bought Apple Sauce of Disappointment I started researching online until I found a recipe that more resembled the kind of apple sauce I would like. I figured, “If I can’t find it I’ll just have to make it.”
After 7-8 trials I think I’ve managed to find that sweet spot between not too sweet and not too tart.
If anyone’s interested I’ll gladly share the recipe.
Lastly—but possibly most importantly, to some people—we are left with the fact that I treat my body to zero amount of exercise.
And you know what?
I still don’t. And I have no plans of changing that any time soon. Sure, who knows, maybe in three months I’ll think differently but that’s three months from now. Let Future Carlos take care of that shit, that’s his job.
Present Carlos is going to keep enjoying life as best he can, not smoking or doing any drugs but drinking the occassional ale—and eating his stupid oatmeal porridge.