Uncooperative Intestines

Exactly one year ago, I realized something was wrong with me. A friend and I went to pick up some lunch before our second-to-last performance of the show we were in, but I noticed that I still felt weirdly full. I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast that morning (which was most likely a bowl of oatmeal, or an omelette).

But it was lunch time, and I needed to eat something before my long afternoon. So I had a minuscule bowl of chicken and dumpling soup. Immediately afterwards, the fullness feeling intensified. I felt like I had just finished a Thanksgiving dinner!

After the afternoon show, we had a little over an hour before we had to be back for the final evening show. I was still full, even after the intense dancing, but once again I thought I had to eat something. So I made a small salad.

When I thought about it, I realized I had noticed these feelings throughout the entire week, but they seemed to be getting worse. I knew no other way to interpret these feelings than, "I'm eating too much." Why else would I feel full all the time?

Unfortunately, this caused a period of several months in which I continued feeling more and more full, consumed less and less, and lost more and more weight. It wasn't until the end of March when my aunt made a comment to my mom about my Facebook pictures that I realized something was horribly wrong.

(FYI: No worries, I have since gained that weight back.)

I told my mom about how I thought I had been overeating because I always felt full. I spent a long time on Google, and when I found several sites stating that a feeling of fullness is a symptom of ovarian cancer, we made a doctor's appointment.

The doctor actually laughed when I told her my suspicion. She eventually sent me to the GI specialists, the thyroid specialists, etc. Everything they tested came back negative, which means I ate radioactive scrambled eggs for nothing. ;)

It's been a year, and as I write this post, I am feeling incredibly, miserably, frustratingly full after eating a nutritious and delicious bowl of oatmeal an hour and a half ago (and you've seen my oatmeal recipes, so you know they are a perfectly reasonable portion size). You'd think I would have gotten used to the feeling by now, but it's just as frustrating as ever. Sometimes, I become so disgruntled that I sincerely believe the only solution is to fast for the rest of my life, but then the voice of reason tells me to eat through the pain.

As you can imagine, this problem is especially annoying to a food lover like me. I will often be in the kitchen preparing an elaborate meal for dinner, and I'll sit down with something like this or this (which were both amazing, by the way), and I'll still feel full from LUNCH. But I have to eat anyway.

But this weekend, my mom and I figured it out. It's my IBS. Duh.

What particularly baffles me is how none of my doctors could come up with a solution this obvious. Instead, they scheduled me for appointment after appointment to perform upper endoscopies, elaborate x-rays, blood tests, ultrasounds--y'know, all the things that help them make lots of money.

So I've identified the problem, but what's the solution? I'm already doing all the steps to reduce my symptoms (small but frequent meals, exercise, high fiber, no caffeine, etc.), but it's still affecting me. This must stop!

Mint chocolate chip "ice cream"

My favorite flavor of ice cream is mint chocolate chip. Sadly, I cannot remember the last time I had it. In fact, I can't even remember the last time I bought ice cream. 

I never made a conscious decision to avoid ice cream; my body just did it naturally. Whenever the option was presented to me, my digestive system practically sobbed in horror. It got out its iPhone and sent some fiery tweets to my brain, forcing it to imagine the inevitable gutache that would result from those few scoops. Like this:

@stomach: @brain Don't do it. You'll regret it.
@brain: @stomach Dude, back off. I'm not afraid of a little dessert.
@stomach: @brain Don't eat the ice cream.

@brain: @stomach But it's really good!

@stomach: @brain You know what's NOT good? Being imprisoned in your bathroom with upset stomach, having post-dessert regret. 

@brain: @stomach It won't be that bad...

@stomach: @brain ...remember last time?

@brain: RT @stomach Don't eat the ice cream.

So you can imagine the joy of both my brain AND stomach when I discovered a digestion-friendly alternative to my beloved mint chocolate chip. 

I've been eating "frozen banana soft serve" for at least half a year now. Even though it's an amazing alternative to ice cream, I sometimes got sick of the banana taste (note: in some variations, you can't taste the banana at all! I'm just too cheap and lazy to invest in other ingredients). That is, until I bought myself a spiffy bottle of peppermint oil.

I blend some frozen banana slices with whatever milk I have on hand (almond, soy, coconut, rice) and a few drops of peppermint oil. Then I stir in a small handful of dark chocolate chips. And voila! Mint chocolate chip " ice cream" that doesn't taste like bananas OR make me miserable for hours afterwards!

A rather liquidy version, right after blending. You can make it thicker by using less liquid (if your blender
 can handle it) or placing it in the freezer for a short time.

Here are my other favorite mix-ins for banana soft serve:

- a spoonful of peanut butter and a dash of cinnamon (works well as a green smoothie as well)
- half a teaspoon of jam and a drop of almond extract
- coconut milk and frozen pineapple (a creamy Piña Colada!)
- berries and almond extract
- berries and chocolate chips

Motivation and Anxiety

Today, I attended my very first yoga class. Our wellness center offers all classes for free on the first week of every semester, so I knew I had to take advantage of this. I've always wanted to attend a yoga class (it's on my bucket list!), but I always used the cost as an excuse to avoid the anxiety of trying something totally new. This time, I had no excuse. It was just me and my anxiety.

For the past several weeks, I had been saying I was going to go to as many classes as I could this week to try everything out. Now that the week is here, I've been piling up excuses left and right.

But I'm done with that. I hate that quality in me. I need to be brave, flexible, adaptive, and fearless. If I ended this week without going to one single yoga class, I would never have forgiven myself. So I kicked my butt all the way to the wellness center this morning and just did it.

So I guess you could say I'm really proud of myself. :) Several times throughout the class, I would smile and think to myself how ridiculous it was that I was afraid of ever being there. Even if I went by myself and knew nobody, it didn't matter. Yoga is a personal, reflective thing. You never really have to feel self-conscious about not knowing what you're doing because it's such an intricate and self-centered form of exercise that nobody has time to see what you're doing. They're too busy perfecting their own positions, focusing on their own breathing, or meditating in their own minds. They don't give a crap if your knee isn't perfectly above your ankle.

I've been dealing with motivation a lot since the end of the Semester from Hell. And I don't mean motivation like, "Get off the couch and do something productive!" I mean it in a bigger sense, like "Figure out what you want in life, and work toward it. Don't let fear stop you."

I'm getting tired of the bitterness and jealousy I experience when I witness other people's awesome lives on Facebook. I have friends/acquaintances studying abroad, getting internships in California, finding careers in Florida, and going on vacation in Colorado, the Caribbean, or New York City. I'm tired of it because I know that I could have those things, too...if I just stopped doubting myself and letting my anxiety win.

I really hate running. But I tell myself, "If Micaela can run a marathon, I can most certainly run a mile."

I freak out on the first day of big life changes. But I tell myself, "If Katie can move to Nashville for an internship, I can most certainly attend a middle school within walking distance of my apartment, find the classroom I've already observed, and become better acquainted with a teacher I've already met."

The point is, I'm graduating this spring, and I know what I want--to move out of South Dakota. Preferably, to move out of the Midwest completely. And--just like with the yoga class--it sounds so fine and dandy when it's far in the future, but I know when the time comes, the anxiety will creep up on me. And I'll stick around, find a school nearby, and plant myself there for life. Then I'll watch other people's lives and be miserable that I was too scared to make my own dreams a reality.

Well, I don't want that to happen, so I need to practice getting out of my comfort zone and kicking Mr. Anxiety in the face. I found a great opportunity to get into an incredible teaching program in Boston (yes, Boston!). I'm going to pursue it. And I'll probably have a lot of anxiety about it, but that won't stop me.

Maybe this time next year, people will be bitter and jealous of my Facebook photos...

Eric Schlosser

This evening, I was blessed with the rare opportunity of meeting one of my biggest heros, Mr. Eric Schlosser.

This is the man who changed my life. This is the man that forced me to think about food in new ways. This is the man who uncovered a passion in me that I had never felt before. This passion for food, health, and sustainable living gave me confidence, energy, and purpose. It gave me an identity. A hobby. A lifestyle.

Growing up in rural South Dakota, I often struggle with the mainstream adoration of biotechnology. I once got in a little debate in class with a bunch of ag education majors who were mocking the organic market. And this is normal for me. So as I sat in the fourth row, seeing Eric Schlosser right there in front of me, speaking about all the things I am most passionate about, knowing many of my friends, peers, and community members were all there listening to it, made me more emotional than I have been since leaving Ireland.

As expected, the question and answer period brought much heated discussion. Every question began with, "I am a family farmer. I actually agree with some of the things you said, but..." And then it went downhill from there.

I noticed quickly during this time that the audience was segregated. Whenever one of these farmers said something, applause roared from the back of the theater. As these farmers were speaking, all the people around me in the front of the theater were rolling their eyes, shaking their heads, and muttering to their neighbors about how embarrassed they were by these members of the opposing viewpoints.

(On one hand, I agree. There were a few comments that just made me duck my head in shame, and they reminded me of why I want to move to Europe. On the other hand, I felt it disrespectful for us to want "the others" to keep their opinions to themselves.)

I used to think I was alone as a food activist in South Dakota, but the segregation of the audience at this event made me realize I'm not alone--I'm just socializing with the wrong people. :) It also makes me realize that there's a distinct segregation in the culture of this community, state, and perhaps the country as a whole. If you look at my school alone, we have the "farm kids" and the "not-farm kids." To say that we don't always see eye to eye  would be an understatement. (One of my best friends comes from a farm....but that's an organic farm, so I don't think that counts).

One question/comment given tonight really caught my attention. A man introduced himself as a family farmer (naturally) and explained that--in this region--it's almost impossible to get ahold of seed that ISN'T genetically modified. The large corporations have taken over so much that even those that WANT to plant non-GMO crops are having a hard time making it happen.

So anyway, let's skip to the happy part. As if hearing him speak wasn't enough of a pleasure, he was also doing a book signing afterwards. I'm not going to lie--I was on the verge of tears. I held them back so people wouldn't think I was crazy. Although, if you saw how much I was shaking and fidgeting around, you'd probably think I was crazy anyway. :)

And then it happened. I stood in line for 10-15 minutes, and then there I was, at the front of the line, nervously pushing my copy of Fast Food Nation toward him.

I said to him, "Thank you so much for being here. Growing up around here, it's just....welll....you heard those attitudes out there, so you know what I'm dealing with. And it's just so....confining and frustrating, and it's just so refreshing to have someone like you come here, so I really appreciate it..thank you so much." And he said that that was great to hear. And then I added that I saw Food Inc. about a year and a half ago, and it just absolutely changed my life. He smiled and said thanks again, and my friend Alex, who was standing next to me, made some comment about how I was boosting his confidence or something? I don't remember. And Eric laughed and replied, "Yeah, I kind of needed that, thank you." :) My schoolmates bruised his ego.. :( And I fixed it. :D

And then I asked for a picture with him. He laughed and said, "Are you sure you won't regret this someday?" He has a fabulous sense of humor.

Now if only I could meet Michael Pollan...

Ireland: patriotism, unity, and national identity

I learned a lot in Ireland. Not just factual information about Irish history and literature, but more subtle cultural differences. The kinds of differences that made me question the greatness of my own country.

One of the amazing aspects of Irish culture was this almost unexplainable sense of unity and national identity. Even though nobody I saw in Dublin had personally witnessed the Easter Rising of 1916 or the Civil War in 1922, they all seemed to act like they had all gotten through those events together. They show compassion and hospitality toward each other. They have this ever-present sense of optimism and determination. They spoke of heroes like Michael Collins and Daniel O’Connell with the kind of pride one uses when talking about a neighbor or best friend who happened to write a famous novel or appear on a popular television show. 

The O'Connell statue in Dublin

In our country, even important figures such as Martin Luther King, Jr., or Abraham Lincoln do not receive that much affection from present-day Americans. For example, Michael Collins died in the Irish Civil War in 1922. Almost 90 years later, the Irish people are still flowering him with adoration. Literally. Every Saturday morning, the Irish send dozens of flowers to Collins’s grave in Glasnevin Cemetery. By contrast, I cannot even guess where Martin Luther King, Jr., is buried. 

Flowers given by the Irish for the beloved leader, who was killed in the Irish Civil War.

How beautiful is that?

Ireland’s unity and national identity is not simply beautiful, but also more logistical. I could simply sense this beautiful unity among the Irish people that made me realize how disconnected my own country was. 

America is so vast, and Americans are so diverse. I have very little in common with Californians or New Yorkers or Texans. Visiting a different state is often like traveling to an entirely different country. The language is different; the demographics are different; the food is different; and, of course, the political agenda is different. So how can our government logistically please us all? 

Such unreasonable expectations has left our Congress in its current state of shambles—a massive group of representatives fighting for vastly different laws, regulations, and outcomes, each trying to please his or her own regional culture.

Sure, having a Congress with representatives for each state sounds like a lovely idea. But how effective can they really be?

I wish America could be smaller. It took an event as tragic as September 11th to bring our country together. How sad is that? Three thousand people had to die for us to bond as Americans. The rest of the time, we barely see eye-to-eye.

I'd like to share one more story. While we were touring the tragic Kilmainham Gaol, our guide brought us out into the courtyard and told us about the Easter Rising rebels who were executed by firing squad there. She pointed to single black crosses on each side of the small area, explaining how they were there to memorialize those fighters.

The crosses stand over the execution site of fourteen men involved in the Easter Rising.

The crosses were the only thing in the courtyard, except for one brilliant flagpole, proudly waving the iconic Irish flag. Our guide explained to us that the tricolor of green, white, and orange represent the peace or "truce" among the people of Ireland. 

The Irish flag in St. Patrick's Cathedral, Dublin

The green stands for the native people of Ireland, and is generally associated with the Catholic population. The orange symbolizes the Protestant population who came from England in the 17th Century. The white in the middle represents peace and honesty between the two distinct groups.

After explaining that, she smiled and said, "Can you guys tell me what the American flag stands for?" We all stared and blinked. We stammered things like:

"Um, the stars represent, y'know, the fifty states."

"Red symbolizes blood. Like, in honor of the blood shed by soldiers and stuff...?"

"The thirteen stripes symbolize the thirteen original colonies..."

Followed by an awkward silence. Now, I'm not telling this story because I think the Irish flag is better than ours (although it may be). The point is that we, as Americans, do not have the national identity and patriotism like we often pretend to. We like to sing songs about how we're "Proud to Be an American," and wave Old Glory in front of every bank, school, and post office...

But how proud are we?