My husband woke me up early this morning because he was helping shuttle students to the cross country meet and they needed another driver. I threw some clothes on, took a sip of coffee, and headed over to the school. I am a stickler when it comes to my morning routine: get up, drink black tea with soy milk, eat a piece of toast, walk the dogs, eat a bowl of oatmeal or something similar. As anyone who knows me well could tell you, I don’t do well without breakfast.
I didn’t have time to eat anything on my way out the door, and Castro Valley is a good twenty minute drive away. After the kids piled out of my car and I stumbled after them, groggy and disoriented, a bag of pastries manifested. They were all maple bars. I’d never even heard of such an atrocity, let alone tried eating it for breakfast. I took a bite of one anyway because I was hungry, and everyone else was eating them. I immediately felt the sugar work its way between my teeth, the cavities already forming, and shuddered as the glucose rushed into my bloodstream.
“Wow, what a way to start the day,” I remarked. “We used to call these the poor man’s power bar,” the cross country coach informed me. I put this new knowledge to a test about an hour later when I went for a three-mile jaunt across the local University campus. I felt a leaden weight in my stomach, and no noticeable increase in energy. Not only that but I was HUNGRY. I came home, ate a giant bowl of pasta, and passed out.
I have nothing against carbs, but I prefer the kind that actually give you energy, not take it away. Further, I am in complete awe that this is considered a *breakfast food* in our fair country. All I can say is: WOW. No wonder we’re such a fat and diseased nation. Also: I think I’m gonna be sick.