I grew up in a steakhouse. I mean that. My mother was a waitress, my grandmother was a waitress and eventually, I was a hostess. I had birthday parties there, I did my homework at a back table, I rolled silverware and I drank more Shirley Temples than milk.
We at the fat. Our dogs expected t-bones every night. I grew up in a steakhouse.
Last October I turned thirty-five and like every woman I know, I am always thinking about losing weight, exercising, getting back to my high school size once and for all. I'm not losing the battle, but I'm not winning either.
I have had friends in the past who were vegetarian and a cousin, who is more like a sister , has been recruiting for years. They slay me. Or they did. This year, 2011, just over five weeks ago, I went Vegetarian. You know, resolutions and all.
Yes, my boyfriend happens to be a vegetarian and we eat together, cook together, so it seemed like it was time. A vegetarian man? I know. He even drives a truck and watches football. Who knew?
So I'm five weeks in, I feel great, I'm losing weight. Despite the cheese and pasta and tortillas and did I mention cheese, oh, yes... and plenty of vegetables! I'm learning about awesome vegetables I never knew existed! I'm losing weight. Even after a blizzard has kept me from the track.
Most importantly, no cravings, no regrets, I haven't once stared longingly at a cheeseburger. Our kids eat meat, our kitchens aren't empty. We eat out. I've never felt the tug. Even I'm surprised. In the beginning it was more of an effort, not out of hunger, but out of habit. What to buy, where to shop, being wary of soups and mixes with beef or chicken base. But that didn't take long. I am eating things now I would have never touched when "dieting" and loving the things I've missed. What I don't miss... is the meat. :)
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