I was a vegetarian once. I had happily been a vegetarian for five years, but I was unable to sustain my iron levels, so I decided to start incorporating meat back into my diet. At the time, I shared dinner duties with my meat-eating friend who, to this day, probably credits my transformation in part to her stellar not-so-subliminal advertising skills (Here are a few examples of things she’d say to me: “Here is a fabulous recipe for Tilapia, Sarah!” “Doesn’t that bacon smell good?” “Don’t you miss bacon?” “Bacon, bacon, mmm…bacon.”). Thus, she assumed the role of Meat Enabler.
My reentry into the wild world of meat eating involved chicken parmesan, an italian dish centered on chicken and cheese. About three bites in, I started to sweat. I made it to half the chicken breast and started to feel a little light headed. I got up and stumbled to my room, officially wiped and ready for bed. The whole night, the smell of chicken breast was seeping out of my pores. I had vivid dreams that I can’t remember now, but that were dark in nature. That was half a chicken breast.
Now, I don’t really eat that much meat. I do eat chicken, some fish, turkey, and occasionally have cravings for beef, the most evil of meats. Last night, my friend and I decided to make burgers after climbing (because, what else would you do after climbing? Yoga? Salad?). Beef is not really her forte, either, but she went for it when I suggested it, making me the Meat Enabler.
We bit into those burgers with zeal. “This is what it feels like to be an American!” About an hour after eating the burgers, our stomachs started gargling. Then, by the time I got home… I’ll spare you the details. Basically, I didn’t feel very well. Around 2am, I had a dream about gunshots outside of my window, most likely because I heard real life firecrackers… I had a hard time falling back asleep after that. And…most importantly, I had a very rough 2 mile run this morning. Note duly taken: I will not eat beef on the eve of race day.