Torres del Paine National Park, Chile
Recently I spent a few weeks staying at a friend’s house in Catriel, a small town in northern Patagonia. We had worked together a few years before, teaching English in her institute to the children of the oil workers who lived there. My stay in Catriel was wonderful: I saw old students, who had all grown up, and yet still remembered the classes we had had together; I ran into old friends, who all had new stories to tell me about their lives; and, far away from the hectic streets of Buenos Aires, I felt like I could relax for the first time in months. The only downside to my stay was I stopped eating Paleo.
In the house I was staying in, family meals were mandatory, and since I was generally teaching in the institute, I almost never cooked. Which meant that I ended up eating what everyone else was eating. While the food was delicious, and the company was enjoyable, I quickly began to notice the effects of going off Paleo. As the bread, spaghetti, and fried foods went down my throat, gradually my waistline began to swell. I found myself with less energy during the day, and had difficulty falling to sleep at night. I even discovered that my allergies had increased, though I’m not sure how much that was due to my diet.
Although I only spent three weeks at my friend’s house, it took me almost a month to get back on Paleo. The first obstacle were the bad habits I had acquired in Catriel: because the grains and dairy products I was eating didn’t seem to satisfy my hunger, I had taken to eating snacks, like cookies and drinkable yogurt, several times per day. They became soothing, an indulgence I allowed myself when I didn’t want to deal with life’s difficulties.
It wasn’t until I met up with my dad, who had travelled to Chile for vacation, that I realized how bad my eating habits had become. With his encouragement, and even just his company, I was able to gradually get back on the Paleo diet. This time, I paid attention to the subtle shifts that occurred in my perception of food. Before, the sight of cookies would make me salivate; a whiff of pastries as I passed a bakery would cause me to slow my pace. Now, under the influence of my father’s company, I began to notice the blandness of non-Paleo foods, how they were often just a mix of flour, sugar, milk and fat that quickly turned into a sweet mash in my mouth. And I became attuned to the delicate flavors of natural foods, which suddenly displayed their variety to me: each carrot, apple, plum, or date was unique in taste and texture; a veritable cornucopia of culinary experiences expanded in my imagination as I left behind the suddenly drab monotony of industrial foods.
In retrospect, I see it was my father’s presence that allowed me to get back on track with Paleo. What’s the moral of this story? While it’s important to make the right decisions for yourself with regards to diet and exercise, these decisions are often made easier by having the support of like-minded individuals. Thanks, Dad!
By John Michael