Salt, Sugar, Fat

     When I sat down to begin reading Salt, Sugar, Fat: How the Food Giants Hooked Us I was prepared to be mildly horrified at the information I found in it's pages. However, I found myself absolutely disgusted by callous dissregard so many of the food companies have for their customer's health. My family is very health conscious and we avoid processed foods as much as we can, and this book simply served to stear me even further away from them. Something I found particularly interesting that Moss pointed out in his book was that whenever he ate with the executives, representatives, marketer's etc. of the food companies, they always seemed to avoid consuming the products that they sold. Another thing that bothered me was the way so many of the processed foods alterred their consistancy, flavor and texture when either the salt, sugar or fat was reduced or removed. Why should I want to eat something that becomes disgusting and rubbery when you remove the salt? Although I am not particularly inclined to eat processed foods in the first place, a part of me is sad that the foods I like to reserve for special occasion have been tainted by the truth. I am definately fond of the occasional soda when I go out, or a few chips at a friend's party, but I am unsure if I can actually stomache them anymore now that I know what is they really contain. This book has made me far more wary of the contents of my foods, and I certainly will question the validity of any food advertisements I see from now on. In my opinion, Salt, Suger, Fat was very enlightening and interesting, despite the unfortunate state of the information that was displayed.

Holiday Traditions

     In my family, the holidays have always been a time to come together. Since I was a child Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday, because my family - immediate, extended and related-by-marriage alike - would all go camping together. For me and my relatives the holidays are about family traditions. Things like my dad and my uncle always grilling our turkey and everyone else bringing entrees for our Thanksgiving potluck. Since we are always away, Black Friday is not something I have ever done and I fairly certain I'm not missing out on anything. Waking up early and standing in the cold, only to be almost crushed when a mob of crazed shoppers storms the store? No thank you.

     After Thanksgiving, my household turns into Santa's workshop. My sister and I creating handcrafted gifts for family and friends, while my father works on my mother's present, which is usually fixing or remodeling something in the house. When my grandmother was still alive, she, my mother, my sister, my aunt and I would all gather at her house and have a huge baking-fest. Shortbread, gingerbread, snicker doodles, sugar cookies, we tried everything. Now that she is gone we bake cookies in her memory. In my family I have never found the holidays to be materialistic or gift-oriented, we have always used it as a time to bring our family together.

     When I read the two essay's on holiday materialism by Amel Saleh and Lauren Smith, I found myself agreeing and disagreeing with parts of each author's ideas. While Smith had a wonderfully idealized situation playing out in her essay, I was not impressed by her "always give and receive" attitude. On the other hand, I liked Saleh's frankness but I don't have a lot of personal experience with the situations she was suggesting. I suppose if I had to chose one that I like better, I would say Saleh. Because, despite my lack of personal experience with those issues, I could see how they could easily become a problem. Part of my mourns for the dismal turn the holiday season has taken, and I am so thankful for my families wonderful holiday traditions.

Now, for Later

     Freshman year of high school, I had a fairly steep learning curve when it came to time management. Even now it is not one of my strong suits. However, this semester it has seemed to come easier than past ones. So far, this has been one of my best semesters of high school. Things seemed to fall into place. My professors have been great, and my classes have been challenging, without overwhelming me.

     One of the things that has been new for me this semester, is meeting and working with new teachers. Being homeschooled, I had the same teachers all through junior high, and high school. I have found that I like teachers who are upfront, and don't leave any room for misunderstandings. A frustration I have had this semester is that one of my professors has a tendency towards ambiguity. While he knows the material and seems to really enjoy the subject, he is occasionally indecisive and vague his lectures. I am often told that I am direct, and that is a trait that I like in other people as well, so his mannerisms leave me... discontented.

     As I mentioned, I am very blunt, and one of my classes has really spoken to that side of me. I am taking Intro to Logic, and so far it has been my favorite. In class we do logic puzzles, which were new to me when I first started the course, but are now what I look forward to the most. When I work on this subject, I can practically feel my mental gears cranking, and I love it.

     In the past, I was often bored by my classes because things were not pushing me enough, but this semester has been the perfect balance of quick assignments and tasks that have made me sit down and consider all angles. Because this semester has been so balanced, I have not had too much trouble staying motivated. Whenever I am feeling stressed and worn out, I boost myself back up with reminders of where I want to be in the future. Studying now, is for my benefit later.

Reality TV

     As a child the television was a source of fascination and awe for me. I enjoyed anything from documentaries on exotic animals, to Looney Toons on the weekends. The one type of show I have never had an interest in though, is reality TV. Although the title implies that the contents are 'reality', I have always thought that there is too much of a scripted feel to the shows. While I can understand the interest people have in these shows, I have never found them to be appealing.

     One of the downfalls of reality shows, at least from my point of view, is that they promote behavior that is not beneficial to anyone. Series like, "Real Housewives" (from anywhere), display women who are superficial and attention-focused. There is no reason for grown women to act, speak and treat each other the way the women on these shows do. While people may argue that they only watch for the entertainment, and do not behave the same way, our subconscious is more susceptible to influence than most people think.

     Another negative affect I believe reality television has, is that it encourages people to gossip, and become overly-involved in other's affairs. Granted, the people on these shows has volunteered to put their lives on display, but I personally don't understand that. Why would you want the whole country to know exactly what your family fought about last night? I don't consider myself an exceedingly private person, but I am definitely uninterested in the activities of other's. This is certainly a factor in my dislike of these shows. I believe that your business is your business, and it should stay that way.

     I have found that I am simply not entertained by most reality shows. Of course, I have not seen all of them so there is a chance that one day I will find one that appeals to me, but so far, I am horrified more often than I am amused. When I watch television, I want to be captivated by a fantastic other world, or alternate universe, or learn new things, and see new places. I don't want to be dragged into the craziness of some family I have never met. My family has enough of it's own crazy. To me, television should be a suspension of the real world, or a celebration of it, not a dramatized, exploitation of humans innate nosiness.

     Although I don't mean to offend any fans of reality television, I can truthfully say that I consider reality TV to be a waste of time. The phony, over-characterization of the people, and the ridiculous scenarios seem laughable. Unfortunately, I do not mean that in a good way. Maybe one day I will change my tune, but for now I am going to continue avoiding reality shows.

An Altered Opinion

     Stereotypically, women have the reputation of being bossy, opinionated and indecisive. While I am not a supporter of stereotypes, I will admit they are there for a reason. I, personally, am all of the above, with a few other traits thrown in for good measure; one of them being stubbornness. When I form an opinion on something, I stick to it, which made this particular assignment difficult for me. Wracking my brain, I searched for a shift in my mindset that had been large enough to merit a noticeable affect in my life. As a fairly open-minded person, when I form an opinion on something, I do my best to consider it from all angles. This means that I try to create an informed opinion, so that I don't have to change it later on; hence my obstacle with this assignment.

     One of the few things I have had a drastic opinion change about, is my close friend, Alex. When we first met, I thought she was intimidating, unapproachable and all-around scary. The first time I tried to speak with her was in one of our shared classes at school, and her answers were short, brisk and lacking in eye-contact. Her every action affirmed my belief that she wanted nothing to do with me. For the rest of the year I kept a safe distance in school. Unfortunately, school was not the only place we both frequented. Alex's mother was my riding instructor, who I met with twice a week. She was determined that Alex and I become friends, and would shove us together at every possible occasion. Eventually we worked out an unspoken agreement: you don't bother me, I won't bother you.

     This mute relationship lasted for almost a year. Our trail rides were silent. Our car trips were silent. Our riding lessons were silent. There is something that few people know about silence. It creates a bond; a still, noiseless recognition of the other person's presence that requires no words. After months and months of our inarticulate alliance, we tentatively began a verbal communication, that came to us with almost no effort. We discovered that because of the time we had spent together, simply in each other's presence, we were at ease. I learned that her inaccessible attitude was a result of her almost incapacitating shyness. She shared with me that she had thought I was silly and spoiled, and we laughed at our gross misconceptions of each other.

     When Alex and I put aside our original opinions of each other, we learned that people are rarely what they seem at first glance. Now, I make a point to spend time with a person before I form am erroneous assessment of their character. Although I had regarded myself as a considerate person before, the shift in my view towards Alex taught me that I was not giving others a proper opportunity to make a good impression.

A Greasy Love Affair

     My mother has always had a dislike for fast food. So, growing up, it was a treat for us to see the little speaker next to the car and tell the robotic voice within it what our order was going to be. Looking back, I feel bad for whoever was on the other end of that speaker. My younger sister and I would wait until we heard the bored, "What can I get you today?", and simultaneously begin to yell out our orders. "Chicken nuggets!" "I want a cheeseburger!" "Don't forget the french fries!" "Mom! Can I get a soda?!"

      I can still feel the edges of my seat belt digging into my collar bone, as I leaned forward as far as my car seat allowed, trying to look at the menu. The frustration at being a six-year-old still in a car seat, was always somewhat mollified by the sight of a steaming pile of my beloved chicken nuggets. After I had scraped the last of the barbecue sauce from it's tiny plastic home, I would start in on my french fries. Sharing a conspiratorial look with my sister, I would check to make sure my mother wasn't paying attention and dunk a handful of fries into my milkshake. Explosions of sweet and salty would awaken my taste buds, and a content grin always spread across my face.

      The sweet and salty mix of a pile of fries and a huge milkshake always used make me grin. One particular summer, I ate a double-double with a large order of fries and a vanilla shake from In-and-Out, at least once a week. Exhausted, my friends and I would pile into the car, and wheedle and beg until the parent of the day took us for burgers and fries. There were few things as satisfying as biting into a big piece of meat after an intense morning of summer camps or horse back riding.

      Now unfortunately, fast food is anything but satisfying. The suety, salty messes that fast food places try pass of as a "meal" only make my stomach turn. As I have gotten older, my tolerance for anything frozen, deep fried and then drowned in sauce, has plummeted. Although a large part of that is a psychological aversion, my regular diet is so far removed from the fast food world that it is hard for my body to process the overload of sodium and fat.

      At home, my family's diet is very health-conscious, and delicious. Just the other night we had mashed cauliflower (it is better than it sounds), roasted chicken, swiss chard and grilled potatoes. Each member of my family cooks, and as a result, my standard for food has become very high. Recently my mother and I had lunch at a Panda Express, and she said, "I can cook so much better than this. Why did we come here?"

      Despite my childhood adoration of fast food, I have out grown that greasy love affair. Now, my palate's expectations far exceed anything that a fast food joint could offer. The convenience, and cost of it may have it's place, but I for one, am done with fast food.

Perseverance

As I dragged myself back to the trailer, relying almost entirely on the fifty mile an hour winds to hold me up, my thoughts revolved around one thing. My questionable sanity. Because, one must obviously be mad to suffer through literal blood, sweat and tears, only to say: "Yes, I have ridden a horse fifty miles, in the middle of the desert, in horrible conditions, for no apparent reason."

On a miserable Saturday, at six am, in the middle of January, I was sitting on the steps of our trailer glaring at the ominous gray clouds that loomed above the deserts of Ridgecrest, California. I had been preparing for the Fire Mountain 2012 race, for months and now the weather seemed resolved to ruin it. Because of the conditions, the start of our race had been postponed by a half hour. While we were waiting, the thirty mile an hour winds howled their glee. During the wait, I went over in my head the layout of the ride. We had three loops, the first lasting twenty-two miles, the second, eighteen and the last only ten. Each one began and ended in camp, and we had mandatory thirty minute holds at the end of the first two loops. Vets were required to check our horses at each hold, ensuring that they were fit to continue. Finally it was time to go, and my trainer, Shelley, and I swung up onto our horses. Along with forty-one other riders, we set out onto the trail, the sound of one-hundred and sixty-four hooves marking the beginning of what was to be a grueling day.

Picking up a swift canter, Shelley and I flew down the trails of our first loop, calling, "On your left!" or "On your right!", warning riders of our intentions to pass. In no time at all we were leading the pack. Eventually we were so far ahead, that those behind us weren't even visible. Ahead of me, Shelley and her horse Impact, slowed to a brisk trot, not wanting to tire out our horses, but still keep good time. My mount, an average sized bay named Journey, quickly made his displeasure at his position in the rear known. Jerking his nose forward, he tried to yank the reigns from my hands, so he could rush to the front. Despite his lack of success on the first try, he continued to pull the reigns and toss his head. As the horses hooves ate up the miles, Journey's antics ate up my hands. At only a fifth of the way in to the ride, my hands were ripped and bleeding, the nerves in my hands waving pathetic white flags, begging to surrender. I ignored them, gritting my teeth and steeling myself to the pain. Almost two hours after the start, we arrived back at camp. Pulling my horse to a stop, I peeled the reigns from my hands, and grimaced at the raw, crimson digits. Peggy, a friend of Shelley's who had accompanied us, took Journey and had the vet check him over, while I tended to my hands. Our hold flew by, and it felt like only a moment passed between the end of first loop and the start of the second.

As we set off for the second time, the wind's enthusiasm rose. That morning the gusts had been thirty to forty miles an hour, now the gales had risen to a brutal sixty miles per hour. Pressing on, Shelley and I did our best not to be swept right out of our saddles. The horses dropped their heads against the wind and pinned back their ears. We trotted on. Then we kept trotting. And we trotted some more. I found myself almost in a trance, hypnotized by the steady motion, oblivious to the wails of the wind and screaming of my overused muscles. Abruptly, my blissful meditative state was interrupted.

"We lost the trail," Shelley announced. Disoriented, I scanned the area and realized she was right. The hoof prints we had been following had disappeared. As we retraced our steps, the muscles I had previously been unaware of began to clamor for my attention, like overzealous kittens with no regard for their claws. The rain that had previously been light enough that is was not a bother, chose that moment to release a furious downpour, soaking each of us and washing away our hoof prints. A poor imitation of Hansel and Gretel, we were forced to wait until another rider came by to redirect us. After what felt like hours shivering in the rain and wind, the clipping of hooves could be heard and a soggy blond and her bay could be seen heading towards us. We met them halfway, and working together made our way back onto the correct trail. Our second break and vet check, I slid off Journey, and with all the grace of a dead fish, collapsed on the ground.

Lying in the dirt, watching as stars twinkled in my vision, I prayed for the day to finish. Once again, Peggy took my horse, looked me over and banished me to the trailer for repairs. The wind that had once seemed like a curse, suddenly became the only thing between me and a face plant; the gusts formed hands that held me up till I flopped into the trailer. I took inventory of my body. Hands: shredded. Head: felt like it had been hit by a semi. Actually, everything felt like I had been hit by a semi. Shelley and Peggy eventually made their way back as well, and Shelley collapsed onto the bed next to me. Her wavy blond hair was matted around her head, and the black, waterproof rain jacket she wore now resembled a used garbage bag. Choking down a Gatorade and half a peanut butter sandwich, I drifted into restless unconsciousness. Peggy woke me twenty minutes later and pulled me to my feet.

"It's time for you to get back on." I swayed; she frowned. "You can quit if you want. No one will blame you." Quit? That had never occurred to me. I could stop now, and not have to suffer through those last ten miles of hell. However, in a sudden fit of madness, I pulled up my hood and stepped outside.

"I am going to finish this ride if it kills me." Peggy gave a satisfied nod while she helped me onto Journey. Fifteen minutes later, I was regretting ever having sat on a horse in my life. The desert looked as bad I felt. Its skeletal hands reached for us, trying to hold us in place; and it's screeches warned us of perils to come. Releasing its final act of fury, the sky liberated a nation of hail, that pounded us relentlessly. Each turn we made, I told myself the finish was just around the corner. After I had convinced my enervated body dozens of times to hold out just a moment longer, the finish line came into view. Never have I been so happy to see white chalk in my life. Summoning the remaining fumes of our energy, Journey and I stepped over the tarnished white boundary of the finish line that marked the joyous end of our race.

Trekking the short way from the finish line back into camp, my adrenaline spiked, giving me much-needed boost of energy. I was high off my accomplishment. Few people can say that, "Yes, I have ridden fifty miles, in the desert, on horseback, in seventy mile per hour winds, rain and hail." Journey and I won First Place Junior, and the plaque still sits on the fireplace mantle at home. When I look at it, I am reminded that if I can make it through fifty miles of hell, there is very little I can't do. Although I still wonder what in the world compelled me to get back on my horse for those last ten miles, I would do exactly the same thing again today. Whether I am at a race, or attempting to complete some other seemingly impossible task, this incident acts as my inspiration to continue. Fire Mountain taught me that, regardless of the circumstances, if you persevere you will be rewarded.