It struck me that my old network ID, MargR, pronounced "Marg-are" sounds like a cave-woman name to my ears. It made me smile, so there it is.

I'm cycling away on my semi-recumbent bike on a rare sunny day in Michigan after a brief exercise break because of a popped calf muscle. I'm a crazy tennis player who apparently doesn't have the sense to cancel a match when she knows her muscle is tight to begin with.

This is the end of my first full week of being fully grain-free (what, you saw me sneak that one chocolate filled cereal square last night? Whoops). It's a journey. On the whole, I'm doing very well and don't miss the grains.

My last Non-primal vice is alcohol. I know better than to force myself to completely give it up because although I'm not an alcoholic, it gives me a sense of loss akin to the feeling of mourning a friend who moves away. Part of me knows that'll just happen naturally so I've chosen not to force it. I've gone that route and just rebound.

Last night, a Saturday, as per our usual pattern, I shook up a couple of martini's for my husband and I. Less than half-way through mine I began to notice that it was really hitting me hard and not in the happy buzz sort of way. I felt crappy. I had a few more sips out of what I can only call stubbornness, then left it unfinished. My husband poured my usual glass of wine for dinner, a little lighter than usual, as per my request. I had him pour a splash later, but, that was it. Unless something else is going on, the Primal way of eating is naturally helping to at least taper my alcohol consumption. I could write reams about the barriers my mind puts up, but, 'nough said for now.

Well, I guess I've been riding the bike long enough. My husband burst in the room and said, "how long have you been down here!?!?" Um, over an hour, maybe more...My rear is a bit numb...

More later. Time to make a BAS!