If you’ve got a Google alert on “gluten” or “celiac” (and you do, right?) you’ve been seeing a rash of articles that highlight the study that shows being diagnosed with celiac disease and following a gluten-free diet could turn you into one depressed lady with an eating disorder.
Happy New Year!
I’ve been reading the articles (okay, skimming) and I know that not every single woman who gets a celiac diagnosis and then jumps all over the diet that stops the hellish burning of her insides becomes a depressed anorexic. For example, me. Naturally, before my diagnosis I was not a happy camper. But after I changed my diet — even though it’s a massive pain in the ass — I had one less thing to stress me out. One HUGE less thing. And the reason I know I was in the literal and metaphorical shitter before I knew what was happening to my body, comes down to my last pre-diagnosis interaction with one man: Richard Simmons.
You see, we had recently moved to Los Angeles from Brooklyn and my sister-in-law (who is a gem) decided the best way to make me love LA was if we went to work out with Richard Simmons in his studio and participate in his mini-therapy session he has on Saturday mornings. You guys, I won the lottery with my sister-in-law. Does yours insist you go workout and have “Project Me” time with Richard Simmons? No? Then your sister-in-law sucks. I’m sorry, but it’s true.
Working out with Richard Simmons is truly life-changing. For only $12 he will kick your ass and scream profanities at you then turn around and give you the biggest, sweatiest, hug you’ll ever be alternately disgusted and overjoyed to receive. It wasn’t my last trip to little Dickey’s studio, but it was getting harder to summon the energy to keep up with that crazy old guy.
So on one particular Thursday evening I was feeling like ass. Not much different from any other Thursday except that I should have been stoked to be in the presence of the bejeweled one. Just like the intuitive he his, Richard stopped mid-jumping jack when he noticed I had picked up the tiny barbells instead of the big ones. “Didn’t I say 10 lb weights? What are those? Five?” His fiery — yet tinged with great love and longing — look had me stammering my excuse, “I’m feeling a bit low energy today.” But no sympathy from Richard, “What, are you on your period?” I love that man. Yet I wasn’t on my period, I just had every nutrient in my body zapped due to undiagnosed celiac disease. And when you can’t even get up the energy to pick up a 10 lb weight and dance with Dickey Simmons — well, that’s effing depressing.
All of this is to say, I was a heck of a lot more depressed before my diagnosis and lifestyle change than I am now. And to prove it, I think I’m going to drop in on Slimmons next week and bask in the love of a complete psycho in shiny shorts. Unless I’m on my period.
Seriously, I LOVE him.
Are you a depressed celiac?
Image via Richard Simmons DVDS