Glutened

I had to force myself to run this evening -- to somehow climb my way out of a gluten coma through fitness.

Jogging was unbearable. Every sneaker stamp on the concrete sidewalk increased the pressure of what felt like a water balloon in my gut.

At every new corner I would accelerate my step, imagining the balloon popping and slowly letting out its watery contents. A sigh of relief would follow.

I don't know which is worse when "glutened" -- the fatigue or the gastric pain and bloating. I'd have to pick the former as the most debilitating to me because I thrive on being active, alert, and attentive.

How did I get glutened? It's been so long since this has actually happened to me.

Troy and I spent this past weekend up in Cable, WI for a mountain bike race. Cable is a sleepy northern Wisconsin town with few restaurants and grocery stores. Downtown Cable has a couple of charming country-like cafes that can easily satisfy a non-celiac bike racer. But for someone like me, you can only hope for a cup of coffee after a race...and that just doesn't cut it.

A bookstore/cafe led me to the best tasting pizza I think I have had since being gluten-free...and "they" said the crust was gluten-free. In fact, it was the only pre-made gluten free crust they had left. I was weak, tired, and hungry after a day of biking over rocky single track trails. My gluten-free guard was down.

"I'll take it!"

The pizza was unbelievably good.

But something kept telling me that it was in fact, too good to be gluten-free-true. The cooked pizza dough had formed into perfect peaks and the smell and taste reminded me of the "olden days" -- meaning my entire previous life.

It wasn't until after the first few bites did I realize that the pizza pie had a near perfect dusting of flour on its underbelly.

My husband's Greek cranberry bread had the same dusting of flour.

I tried to convince myself that maybe it had been dusted with potato flour. Or rice flour. Or tapioca flour.

I don't think so, Julie. It was too good. Too good.

Reality:

It emerges once again. Celiacs take a chance every time they eat out and employees in the restaurant business just don't get this disease. It's not necessarily their fault. They haven't been educated about food allergies and serious autoimmune-related food conditions.

That person preparing my "gluten-free" pizza probably didn't make the connection about the flour dusting. It was routine for them to prepare it this way. And my guess is that the flour was probably all over the counter tops and oven.

This whole incident is still emotional for me. I nearly cried when I took my first bite of that pizza slice. It was everything that I can't have anymore.

It was a reminder of how challenging gluten-free life can really be.