When I return from CrossFit, where I've barely survived the workout, I'm usually starving. More than likely, I haven’t eaten beforehand because: a) I might still be fasting—typically going 13 hours without food from my last meal the night before—and b) I don’t want to have my stomach tumbling.
My goal is just to get through it feeling okay. I follow three rules: 1) I show up. 2) I try. 3) I try not to get injured, because it’s surprisingly easy to get hurt in the gym, especially as you get older. Where others are lifting 65-plus pounds in an overhead snatch, I'm at a mere 25. Still, there’s a real victory in doing what you're personally capable of, so I was happy with that.
After CrossFit, I usually pass through Whole Foods. On a recent visit there, I needed some salad and berries for breakfast to go with the hard-boiled egg and bagel I had waiting at home.
I paid for my items downstairs, then took the escalator up, thinking about getting Phil a cup of coffee. But with even just one person in line, I could tell it wasn’t going to be quick, so I picked up a small breakfast bar instead—one that didn’t look packed with ingredients I couldn’t pronounce. I decided to pay for it at the self-checkout near the exit.
While there, I noticed rows of cakes.
I asked the salesperson, “Why are these here?”
“Because they didn’t sell downstairs,” she replied.
“Will they sell now?” I asked.
“Probably,” she said with a cheeky smile.
I furrowed my brow and tried to salvage the conversation by pointing to the Vitamin C packets near the checkout. “Well, at least they have these. They’re good.”
“Yes, but look over there—they have bars,” she said.
“Bars are tricky. Some are good, some aren’t. I just avoid most of them,” I replied.
“That takes self-discipline,” she said.
“So true. I wish it were easier – it’s not always for me either!”
I put my breakfast bar in my backpack and the blueberries, strawberries, and lettuce in a paper bag. Time to head home to Phil and the Fischer Kitchen.