Coffee and a Conversation
As Told Over Brunch is a home for intelligent discourse from the twenty-something perspective - so the stuff you gossip about over mimosas on Sunday morning or over takeout on your friend's couch when happy hour ends too early. We love chatting about our lives, whether it be the relationships we’re building (or destroying), lessons we've learned at work, struggles at school, growing pains we've felt, or even the food we’re talking over.
This January, I completed my first Whole30.
Technically, so did my roommate Grace. This would be mean if we weren’t practically sisters. But instead, it’s funny since it’s the truth, and I also take complete ownership of derailing her first attempt.
What I learned: read your labels.
Read MoreSince being diagnosed with IBS my senior year of college, I have switched doctors five times. First, there was the doctor that referred me to a GI doctor, then my GI doctor wanted a colonoscopy, but I was going on winter break, so then I saw a GI doctor in my hometown. Next thing I know, I moved to Richmond, VA for grad school, so guess what? A new GI doctor! I thought this one would last for the next four years, but then I got a nice letter announcing his retirement and his endorsement for his replacement.
If you are keeping tally, that is arguably five doctors I have endured in the course of fifteen months. Let me catch my breath.
Read MoreWe made it: I officially came in second in The Biggest Loser Challenge at my work. It’s been a really awesome three months, where I learned that I can actually lose weight, I can stay motivated and I can totally do it. However, dieting is hard and should be a life change that continues forever, not a three month long competition. But today’s not what about what lies ahead for me and my pact with myself to live a healthier life, but a reflection upon the clichéd “peaks and valleys” of dieting.
Read MoreAt least one night a week, I go to a yoga class offered through Virginia Commonwealth University (VCU). Over the last year, I've gotten to know the instructor, Anja Bachmann, and I recently asked her to answer some burning-like-my-hamstring-when-I-try-to-stretch-it yoga questions for me:
How did you get into yoga? I was in high school and took a few yoga classes, but wasn't into it. My freshman year of college, I went to a small liberal arts college out of state and hated it. Yoga helped keep my mind off of being homesick. Their yoga teacher was graduating, and I was trying to find a way out of the food industry up there and decided I would take the summer intensive yoga teacher training in Richmond while I was home for the summer. The usual program is 9 months, and I did my RYT® 200 in 3 months. I never went back [to the liberal arts college] and started classes at VCU instead! Then, I was hired as a yoga teacher for VCU the following spring.
hat is your favorite pose? This is a hard one! It totally depends on my mood and whatever my body needs. Normally, chaturanga. It's normally thought of as a transitional pose and often overlooked, but done right it is so liberating. It makes you feel strong, balanced, and light all at the same time once practiced enough.
Read MoreFrom time to time, we all feel like we need to do something to make ourselves look beautiful. And sometimes, we take it too far, where it may be considered beautiful, but is also compromising our health.
Can we all join together and realize that what's good for our health should be the real standard of beauty? Read my latest post on Elite Daily with my sentiments on society's standards of beauty here: http://elitedai.ly/1ArwarA
If you like what you read, share the article with someone who you think is healthily beautiful.
Read MoreI probably could have not shouted out my status in the Biggest Loser in the title of this post, and built up to my second place status, but I haven't been this proud of myself in a long time. I have always made excuses about not losing weight, but with a bit of focus, I've been able to do really well with it this time. It started off pretty rocky.
It definitely took a few days to adjust to my new healthier, less food-driven lifestyle. I was hungry all the time and never felt like I was ever satisfied. But my body adjusted. I got used to less food. And you know what? It's crazy how little food you actually do need, once you adjust your body to less food. I'm about to list some tips for healthier eating, but by no means am I qualified to offer suggestions, other than the fact that I've lost a "stone" (which is what the British woman at work said to me, and I thought was so cool I texted several people about my lost stone). To us Americans, that means 14 pounds, which is about 7% of my bodyweight.
Yes, thats 7% less of me to love, but we can get through this together. Anyways, here's my list of diet suggestions:
Read MoreAs some of you may recall, I have began a work-hosted Biggest Loser competition. It's only a little over a week into my new diet, and I've heard a myriad of statements that annoy me so frequently that I feel it is my public service to write them down for everyone as a learning opportunity. Here is what not to say to someone on a diet (or at least someone like me, or just me):
"Why? You don't have to lose weight." You're right, I don't HAVE to lose weight. No one is forcing me to. However, I am over the weight that is considered healthy. When I sit down, my roll is now protruding over my pants. My face is rounder than it used to be. I get out of breath easier than before. I want to lose weight, but yes, you are correct, I don't need to.
Read MoreI've read a lot about diets and workout exercises. I once watched an entire workout video too (sitting down). Unfortunately, none of those activities help you lose weight. I've written about my weight before, so it's no secret that I'm not known for my skinny, toned bod. I'm not grossly flabby either. I'm somewhere in the comfortable middle with some pounds to spare. Anyways, we were talking about losing holiday weight at work, and BAM, we (well -- I didn't really do anything to help) organized a Biggest Loser competition.
It'll include sharing recipes, workouts and motivation. We'll bring in healthy snacks, take walks around the lake and verbally assault each other when we're trying to sneak some cookies into our mouths. All things I can get down with. I wasn't planning on taking it too seriously (I mean, I'll have to lay off drinking and eating donuts if I want to win), UNTIL I realized this is an outright competition. We're doing weigh-ins, sending around updates and paying a tiny fee so that the winner gets a huge prize.
Read MoreBy Cazey Williams I’m a Starbucks aficionado in the most non-basic sense, which means I don’t order mocha chais or – God forbid – PSLs. The only time I get more exciting than a “Trenta iced coffee, light soy, light ice, unsweetened” is when I have a reward drink, and then I might – might – order some sort of frappucino with double espresso shots.
I don’t do this more often because of the two C’s that dictate most of my dietary habits: Cost and calories. However, once upon a time, my friend introduced me to the Tazo (insert trademark symbol) Green Tea Frappucino Blended Crème (apparently that’s the proper name). I had a sore throat at that encounter, which added to my adoration.
That frappucino happens to cost $4.75 if you order a venti (and why wouldn’t you?). If your heart palpitated at that, wait until you hear about the nutrition. It’s so bad that Starbucks is very sorry, but “the nutritional data for this product is not available online.” Thankfully, nutrition sleuths exist online, and they estimate calories for that venti at 420, which primarily comes 88 grams of carbohydrates. Carbs in themselves are not bad – but 86 of those grams are sugar. Yes, sugar. I just got diabetes.
The iced green tea latte is loaded with similar sins.
Therefore, I present to you my sweet Starbucks hack that is both cheaper and healthier. Order a Trenta shaken green iced tea (Teavana with the trademark symbol if you care – and a trenta because I always do) and ask for no water. When you order a shaken iced tea usually, Starbucks already has the tea made, but they then add water. Yup, they water it down. Right? What the heck is that? So when you say “no water,” they give you all tea.
So then the barista asks, “Sweetened or unsweetened?” This is your choice. And I know aspartame comes out of the devil’s pores, but gosh, I love my Sweet’N Low and always ask for just one packet. Of course, this might kill me down the road, but not as fast as the 86g sugar overdose.
Finally, you ask for a splash of soy, which means like a fourth of a cup in generous barista language. If they’re stingy, you need two splashes. (We’re trying not to get charged here.) Starbucks carries vanilla soy milk, and this is what gives the creamy, sweet addition you need to emulate a latte. (Sorry, this isn’t exactly a frappucino, but you can’t have your cake and eat it, too.)
Altogether, $3.28 on my gold card. Ka-ching.
Here I am modeling with this heavenly creature we’ve created. Look at those chapped knuckles. Taylor Swift should cast me in a music video.
Note how the color goes with the yellow foliage. Yeah, I know it’s November; who wants an iced beverage? Well, I hope you burn your tongue on your steamed milk.
Anyway, get to Starbucks fast, and let me know what you think!
Editor's note: This is going to chronicle probably the goriest event that has ever happened to me. Get ready! A perfectly normal Wednesday was wrapping up. I had done some Zumba (poorly, I may add), cooked a chicken-based dinner (extremely typical), watched some television with the roommates, took a shower and lounged in my bed for a bit.
I was ready to go to bed at this point. It had been a long day and my hair had basically finished drying. So, like I do every night of my life, I went over to my closet door, pulled it open and reached up to hang up my towel. Then there was a bang, I look down.
The mirror from the front of the closet door is laying on the ground next to a bloody piece of meat. No wait -- that bloody piece of meat is my leg. I shit you not I saw bone. Huge drops of blood are hitting the floor every second. And huge drops are hitting the rug my mom explicitly told me not to ruin. I knew I had to move off of the rug, but my leg is limpy. I focus in. I absolutely need to go to the emergency room. My roommate next door is asleep already, so I'll crawl to the stairs and call for the one downstairs.
Nope, my leg won't make it. I yell downstairs, "I need to go to the emergency room." Both roommates materialize like they are wizards straight from Hogwarts. Everyone is calm, like we have a prepared emergency response plan. One roommate collects my and her belongings so that we can leave. The other wraps a towel around my leg and goes for gauze and pre-wrap. I sit applying pressure. Not crying. Just planning. I need shoes, id and my insurance card. And a bra. Can't leave the house without a bra.
She comes back with the supplies, and I squeeze the two halves of my leg together, while she applies gauze and then tightly wraps the pre-wrap around my wound. (The next day, I find out that she has experience splinting horse legs, so she was ready to put that skill to use). The other roommate comes back with our to-go supplies. We work out that one goes and one stays to clean the blood. What more can you ask for in a friend than someone who will mop up your pools of blood for you? #BloodSisters
I slide on my butt down the stairs, slip my boat shoes (they ended up being a casualty of the night. The entire left shoe is caked in blood beyond cleaning) on, and we are off. It was a quick drive (thank god) down just a few blocks to the ER. I get dropped off and hop on one leg inside. The greeting nurse takes down all sorts of information, as I internally contemplate whether I should call or text my parents. I decide text, because it's late, and they'll think I'm near death if I call now. Plus, what can they do when they're eight hours away, anyways right?
So then I'm led back to my bed. And then I sit alone, with just the sounds of the EMT's gossiping, the click of the heart rate monitor for the patient to my right and every now and then a squeak of a shoe. And I totally lose my shit. What if it actually broke my bone? Or ripped a muscle? Or it gets infected and they need to amputate? What if they just leave me sitting here to bleed out?
I sob. And sob a bit more. Nurses come and go, but I sit alone sobbing.
Eventually, one comes over and compliments the nice dressing on my wound (thanks, years of horse splinting). I still can't compose myself. They go to get my roommate. No one comes back.
I freak out a bit more. They just wheeled someone away for higher-grade attention.
Then, a lovely, nonchalant nurse comes over. She tells me I'm doing well, ask me how it happened. Then she asked me if I think I could have Ebola, if I was trying to hurt myself or if I was assaulted. All no.
She cracks a few jokes, and my tears subside. Shortly thereafter, I text my other friend and he comes running (more like brisk walking) from his house to the hospital. Once there, I feel much more calm. He's not nervous about all the blood. He handles it. He talks to me and takes my mind off of it.
"You really went big on this one," the nurse muses. "Go big or go home, right?" I quip back. When you're in pain, freaking out, there's nothing like a good wound joke to break the ice. We get some x-rays and praise hallelujah no broken bones, chard's of glass or ripped muscles. While getting hit by a falling mirror is a total unlucky fluke, at least hearing good news like that is calming.
So then begins the time to stitch. My friend snaps a picture (which I swear if he shows that to me before a years time, I will vomit. Not that I actually need the picture to remember how my leg looked. I'll probably carry that image with me to the grave. It looked straight out of a horror film.), and the doctor begins. Oh pain. So much of it.
But damn, do I have a good friend. He talks about nothing for the entire time. He explains his graduate school classes, which meant nothing to me. Except for the real fact that it meant everything to me. He had a midterm the next day, but he chose to help me out when I needed him most, and was able to talk to me enough to distract me from the mangled mess that was my leg.
After a long evening of waiting and stitching, my roommate and I head home. She's GOT to be drained, as she drove our other roommate to the airport at 5:30 that morning. She hates blood, yet still sucked it up and brought me to the hospital. What more can I say other than she's a leg-saver.
I'm spent too, except for the fact that I can't sleep. Maybe it was the drugs they gave me, maybe it was the pain or maybe it was replaying the way my leg looked when it was about to become stuffed chicken. But I was very much awake.
I then decide that I should blog about it (the nurse did say this would make an awesome story), and I should do it immediately before I forget. Right -- because I can forget this trauma so quickly.
So instead of trying to blog about the night at 4am, I roll over, thank god for the three most helpful, amazing people a girl could ask for, and do my best to go to sleep (and waited til daylight to share the gore with you all. Happy Halloween!)