The Wellness Bitch

“Try” is one of those words that I believe should be deleted from the dictionary.

The definition of try? “Make an effort. Attempt.” Is there a word in the English language that is more subjective than “try?”

There is nothing definitive about “trying.”  Try is an excuse. Try is not a verb. There is no action in try.

Senator Blanche Lincoln, the chairwoman of the Senate committee on agriculture and the architect of a recent childhood nutrition bill, was quoted in the New York Times yesterday as saying, “We’d all like to do more and we’re going to try, but we’ve got to get started.” I know that we’re conditioned to stand up, cheer, and shout “bravo” when someone declares they’re going to “try” to make a change. But, in my humble opinion, trying counts for nothing.

I applaud you for your “doing,” Senator Lincoln. I applaud you for taking a stand for our children. I applaud you for being bold and brave in a culture that does not reward you for being so. But, WAKE UP…when you start using words like “try,” you’ve put yourself on a path to failure.

Yesterday, a friend of mine posted on Facebook about Jamie Oliver’s efforts to reform school lunches, “Sad. I really want this to work, but changing kids eating habits is complicated.”

I repeat my response here, because after I wrote it, I realized for the first time, just how uncomplicated changing our kids’ eating habits is. 

“It’s not always easy,” I wrote. “But I always think about the starving kids in this world. (Remember what our parents used to say…the starving kids in Ethiopia? Or China? Or wherever?) Kids who are hungry will eat what we provide them. And if we remain consistent in our parenting (like so many of us do with sleep training or homework), our kids will adjust. Kids who are a bit hungry for 2-3 days while they adjust…not the end of the world.”

We feed our kids junk because it’s quick, it’s easy, it’s what they ask for, it’s cheap, it’s ready, it tastes good, it’s satisying, we associate it with pleasure, we want to please them…for a whole host of reasons. But how often do you feed your child out of a direct desire to physically nourish them? Take just a moment. Now, think about how and why you are feeding your child the foods you are feeding him. 

In that same New York Times article, Margo Wootan, director of nutrition policy for the Center for Science in the Public Interest, an advocacy group, said, “We can’t go from candy bars to apples in one fell swoop.”

Really? Why not? Because you’re not trying hard enough?

I challenge Wootan’s statement and I challenge you to stop trying, and do. Because when feeding your child actually registers as something that MATTERS to you, there is no “trying.” There’s only doing.

It’s time to wake up
says the earnest Wellness Bitch.
Start giving a shit.

We’re set up to fail
on our journey to wellness.
Now, get over it.

What will you take on
today that makes a diff’rence
to your tomorrow?

Q: What do you call someone who derives pleasure from the bread of affliction?
A: A matzochist.

WAKE UP CALL. Chocolate covered matzah is kosher for Passover and delish, but it gives me gas.

TIP: Stick to fruit for dessert.

Last night, at our Passover Seder, I was relating to my extended family my ongoing surprise at how brilliant a replacement for deodorant baking soda is. It’s been two weeks now since I switched to B.S. (baking soda), and I’ve never smelled so…well, so plain. I smell like nothing. No B.O., no ”baby-fresh shower zest” pits, just plain me.

I even put it to the serious test today when I took a hot yoga class. To be honest, I didn’t smell ultra fresh towards the end, but you probably wouldn’t have kicked me out of bed either.

Over a glass of Yarden Kosher for Passover, I was cheerily explaining to my brother- and sister-in-law my delight at my newfound body care product and my reasons for switching. For example, the aluminum in anti-perspirants are linked to cancer, as well as respiratory and neurological disorders. Wearing anti-perspirant prevents you from releasing unhealthy toxins by keeping you from sweating. Plus, there’s other bad stuff in deodorants like phthalates.

They smiled. They humored me. And then my brother-in-law said, “Well, we all die from something. I’m happy with my clinical strength.”

WAKE UP. Yes, we all die someday from something. But some of us will die scary, sad, too young, chemo drawn out deaths from not giving a shit!!!  Do you hear me??? Try giving a shit!!!

And the tombstone will read: HE DIED FROM SOMETHING. BUT HIS PITS SMELLED FRESH.

You know what sucks about having a friend since you were ten years old? They can totally call you out on your shit. My friend Sondra is president of The Wellness Bitch Fan Club. That probably has something to do with the incredible transformation she’s made over her own health and wellness in the two and a half decades since we’ve known each other.  She’s educated, empowered, and spreads the good word.

So the other day, Sondra’s like, “Um, Wellness Bitch? Enough about air fresheners (I’m not getting rid of the vanilla room spray) and baking soda (does it really work?). You never write about exercise. What about the body in mind/body/spirit?”

I started making up all these excuses about why I don’t write about chi running or PX90 or The Bar Method. After humoring my hemming and hawing for about 45 seconds, she says, “Own up. You’re not exercising!”

Gulp. She’s so right. I’ve been completely slacking off on my exercise for like…I don’t know…forever. I was on a roll before the holidays with a fairly regular yoga practice and a new found love of the treadmill. But life and excuses got in the way and suddenly

WAKE UP. Taking on physical fitness, aerobic exercise, cardio, whatever you want to call it, is just as easy as taking on food. There is no difference. There is only choice. Up until this point, I simply didn’t choose it.

And I’m suffering. And so is my family. Not because I need to lose weight or prepare for a marathon. Because I’m a cranky, moody bitch who is healthy in every other way except for the fact that I don’t have a regular fitness regimen. There’s nothing left to blame it on.

TIPS: Call me out! Share your empowering tips. Find an exercise-obsessed friend to work out with.

While I’m on the topic of I CAN’T BREATHE, let’s discuss public restrooms.

A frequent visitor to public restrooms,  I’ve got to be grateful for their existence. If you’ve ever been pregnant, suffer from IBS, or have a child over the age of three, you know what I mean.

But there is no greater assault on the olifactory system than entering a stall in the ladies restroom of the airport, shopping mall, or worse yet, I-95 rest stop. Bad enough are the body smells. Stinky old lady parts. The toxic aftermath of fast food. Urine that made it onto the floor instead of into the bowl.

But as if the natural odors weren’t offensive enough, we’re assaulted by a mystical concoction of bleach-Comet-air freshener-ammonia-potpourri. A mere coverup, the cleansers don’t really make the stink disappear; rather they overlap to create a revolting hybrid aroma.

Do you know the real intent behind using these products? To convince you the public restroom is a clean place to make a poop or a pee. WAKE UP. Public restrooms are germ fests. Bleach and ammonia, if properly used, might eliminate some remnant feces off the floor and counters, but actually cause more harm than good. And those deodorizers on a timer, periodically spritzing “lilac breeze” or “juniper melon?” They’re really only masking the odors; they’re not cleaning a thing.

TIPS: Hold it ’til you get home. Natural hand sanitizer.  Write a letter to the EPA demanding reform, like this one.