The Junk Food Crisis

I’m getting old.  And by getting old I mean that I’m losing or have already lost my ability to eat copious amounts of disgusting, delicious junk food without feeling sick or regretting it.  Last night, a respected colleague of mine and I decided to get a collection of sweets and treats for the sole purpose of eating like we had each been dumped in a romantic comedy and I immediately regretted our choice of food.  There was too much sweetness and I keeled over in intense stomach pain like an old man.  I couldn’t do it.  I could not finish the bounty of processed sugar in front of me and my thoughts took a turn for the worse.  My careless youthful eating habits flashed before my eyes and I struggled with the thought of what it was like to eat junk food without any cause for concern.  An old love of mine had crippled me and I lay on the floor angry at my body for sudden betrayal into old boring age.  Would my snacking highlights just be relegated to chocolate covered almonds and the occasional Oreo?  I shuddered to think of that bleak future but then again I may have shuttered because my stomach was staging a revolt against my own body.  Needless to say, I would not be exiting the fetal position for a long while. 

Where had I gone wrong in my junk food life?  I tried to pick up the pieces and retrace my eating habits to pinpoint the cause of my sudden resistance to the worst things out there.  The first place my mind entered was that of the fast food kingdom and how I struggled to eat from any one of the famed burger chains without it being after 1 a.m. or me being fully in control.  The last time I had an afternoon meal at McDonald’s was on July 4^th (I was celebrating America in my own way) and the food almost took me out of commission for the long haul.  Every sip of soda from their absurdly wide straws brought visions of my blood pressure rising and with every subsequent bite of delicious hamburger I could feel my body gaining weight and entering a healthy BMI.  This horrified me as I raced from my health fears to my own personal fear of not being able to enjoy these empty calories and trans fats.  What was becoming of me?  The only fast food I could wholeheartedly tolerate was a sub from Blimpies or a delicious street hotdog but even those were not consequence free offerings (they had a staggering recovery time).  I was changing and I didn’t like it.

Fear not loyal reader as I can still tolerate a greasy burger, but truth be told it has to be a step up from McDonalds or Burger King.  It has to, nay, must be at least coffee shop quality and then I’m good to go.  My tolerance for junk is not what it used to be and I suppose that’s a good thing.  I’ve heard rumors that when you age your metabolism slows down and I am beginning to fear that those rumors may be true and *gasp* may be coming for me.  I guess my lack of tolerance for terrible food is a blessing in disguise.  But I am not at that point in my life where I am grasping for silver linings.  Eating unfettered junk food has now become a chore rather than a delight and is just another in a series of depressing anecdotes that prove I’m getting older and I can’t stop the coldness of inevitability.  The natural response would be to embrace the change and adapt but like most in the human race I am not as susceptible to change as I want to believe I am.  I’m at a crossroads here and I don’t know what to do when faced with another one of life’s minor crises that a bigger man would have brushed off easily.  What to do, what to do?  In short I have no clue other than to ponder the future of my fate and stare at the half eaten plastic box of gummy worms.  What to do, oh what to do.