Fight with Fiber
Yup, the headline says it all. I’m in an all-out, passive-aggressive feud with Fiber. Yes—that Fiber. The one that’s supposedly your digestive BFF, your gut's personal life coach, the behind-the-scenes hero of health. But lately? We’re not on speaking terms.
Technically, the tension started last fall. But like any classic tale of hubris, I played Goliath. Fiber? Just some mild-mannered nutrient. No real threat. And, well…we all know how that story ends. Slingshot. Forehead. Regret.
Let’s not drag this out: the doctor says I need more Fiber. Like, now. Stat. Apparently, you can't survive on Bagels and Cortados. Who knew?
This shouldn't be hard. Fiber isn’t exactly rare. It’s not iron—aka the elusive mineral we hunted like it was the final Horcrux. Chantel needed more of it (hopefully not a HIPPA violation), and suddenly we’re scanning labels like CIA agents. The plot twist? Cheerios. Regular, no-frills Cheerios. Turns out they’re basically crunchy iron nuggets. Don’t be fooled, not the Honey Nut Cheerios.
But Fiber? Fiber is everywhere. Allegedly. And yet, somehow, I’m eating as much fiber as I was iron—which is to say: not nearly enough to win any medals.
The breakthrough came when I rediscovered the Kirkland protein bars in our pantry—each one clocking in at 32% of the daily fiber quota. A third of the job done! Problem is, I haven’t touched one since the Kili climb. They give "summit snack," not "desert."
So I pivoted to an old flame: Fiber One bars. Remember those? Middle school cafeteria gold. Not because we needed fiber—but because they weirdly slapped.
Two bars a day. Boom—66% of my fiber dreams, right there. And it was great…for like a week. Then it got old. Fast. Turns out I’m a grazer. A snacker. A flavor-flipper. The idea of chewing the same bar forever feels like a cruel eternity. I can already see the future: pockets full of Fiber bars at the movie theater. Stuffing them in my sock to sneak into baseball games. Whispering, “Do you want one?” like it's contraband.
Right now, a lonely Kirkland bar sits next to my mouse. It’s been there since 2pm. Just collecting dust. Will I eat it before I get up? Will it make it to the couch with me? Or will it become part of the furniture? Only time will tell.