Cooked

(Editor's Note: This was robbed from the internet and not actually taken in my actual kitchen. I'm not saying this never happens in my kitchen, but at this moment I am innocent. Thank you. . . you may continue reading)

So, if the last two days were the Raw Olympics and I were team USA, let's just say I was more along the lines of Michael Phelps than the women's gymnastic team. Just a little short of my lofty ambitions.

But, shall I quit? No.

I'd kind of like to. I'd kind of like to roll over and say that this is incredibly too hard and impossibly too extreme and I'm crazy for trying it. But, as the Avett Brothers say: "When your dreams start sayin' they can't come true, you'd better off without them, don't let 'em go."

So I won't. Tomorrow I rise to juice again. I will make pulp crackers. I will eat broccoli. I will look at chicken and rice and laugh. I will mock the oreos as they call my name. Because I have decided to go raw. And go raw I shall.  Tomorrow, I shall stand on the raw podium and claim my medal. Even if it is only a bronze.