What goes in must come out

When I worked at the cafeteria, I was allowed, without charge, three 20 ounce soft drinks from the fountain per shift.  The tap water left a yucky aftertaste, and bottles of water were for putting into the vending machines.

I was the baker, and my work table was between the steam cabinet and the convection ovens.  Hot climate, short sleeves through the winter.  I had no trouble reaching the drink limit.

Even on days off, I would drink a couple cans of pop at home.  I’ve never learned to like the taste of diet drinks, and often get a headache and a crawly feeling on my skin when I do partake.

At the daycare job, there was a vending machine by the back parking lot.  Even though I drank a can of pop with my lunch, I would often stop at the machine to have something to drink on the drive home.

My weight and complexion were telling me that the habit wasn’t good for me.

And so, for the year 2001, as a New Year’s Resolution, I gave up cola.  Didn’t buy any more to bring to the house.  The vending machine at work had been taken away for electrical problems, and the director said it did not need to be returned.

For the first three weeks after cutting myself off, I was sluggish, bitchy, and my skin got worse than ever.  I was drinking twice as much water as I ever had of the pop.
It got better.  Water was able to quench my thirst.  I had a mug of tea at lunch.
My eczema and complexion got easier to manage.

My resolution held strong until April, when there was a week of Teacher Appreciation.  Free 2-liter bottles and a stack of cups all day long in the employee Break Room.

Trouble was, after drinking a glass, even diluted with ice, I got a bit dopey and drowsy for the afternoon.  Not good at all, there was work to be done, children to supervise.
My body had made adjustments, and now I tipped backwards.

The sick feeling lasted for several hours, and was so bad that the memory stayed with me until June.  I worked almost 4 hours of playground duty on a hot and humid day.  On the way home from work, I stopped to put gas in the car, and decided to go inside and get a cherry Pepsi from the fountain.  The rest of that evening, I was on the couch, dizzy and sleepy.

These days, it is a rare occasion when I ask for a cola drink.  Enduring the after effects would be too difficult.

I decided that a soft drink should be considered a gift every once in awhile, especially with popcorn and a video.  Not cola, but Goose Island, which is a high quality root beer, made with cane sugar.    I seek it out at a store near the church building, and even that place can’t keep it in full stock.

Sodapop has become a treat rather than a habit.
It seems I was getting on the right track because, according to a recent news article, Cola is bad for Women’s bones.

Until today when I was looking for the picture, I did not know there is a blog devoted to root beer.
I think I’ll go poke around over there.

~~love and Huggs, Diane