Why I Decided to Try the Whole30 (& How I Got Friends to Join Me!)

Tater tot hotdish... NOT Whole30 compliant.

Some people run marathons. Others sign on for 10-day juice cleanses. I even know people who've lived in the Boundary Waters for a month without much more than a canoe, Nalgene bottle and a fishing pole. There's a type of person who finds enjoyment in suffering.

I am not one of these people.

However, due to a confluence of many events (starting Crossfit, getting married, my Hey Eleanor lifestyle, constant stomach aches/headaches), I decided it was time to radically overhaul my diet... at least temporarily. After a ton of internetting, I selected the Whole30-- essentially a strict, 30-day Paleo diet that limits you to only whole foods (like meats, some fats, eggs, veggies and fruits) and restricts all grains, dairy, alcohol, soy, sugar and more.

Why would a person subject themselves to such an eating plan? A few reasons. Melissa & Dallas Hartwig, the couple who created the plan, claim Whole30ers experience these results:

Increased energy levels
Pain relief
Weight loss
Healed skin issues (from acne to eczema), digestive ailments, seasonal allergies or fertility issues that medication hasn’t helped
A metabolism reset, plus relief of systemic inflammation
Changed perspective about food, taste, eating habits and cravings.
Changed emotional relationship with food.

I am all about those things! And I had always wanted to get to the bottom of my food sensitivities (which I fear are substantial). But after reading their Official Rules, I wasn't so sure it was for me, and it really didn't have much to do with the list of things I could and could not eat.

I was afraid to do the Whole30 alone.

Not that doing it by myself sounded so awful. At certain points in my life, I could've probably done it... like when I lived alone. These days, I live with the beyonce. We eat dinner together almost every night. If he's not onboard, that presents a lot of obstacles-- for example, being surrounded by tempting Girl Scout cookies, pizza and beer (sorry, Josh, I know that's what you like to eat). Plus, it's more fun eating together and cooking together and grocery shopping together.

Then, there is the social aspect. Would I have to be the person who had to explain why I'm not drinking (for the billionth time, I am not pregnant!)? Or why I'm not chowing down chicken wings at happy hour? Would I have to bring my own food to parties? Would I just skip parties all together? No beer, no wine, no cocktails, no mocktails, no Diet Coke. NOT EVEN cream in my coffee. How would I even hang out with friends without it getting too weird? And what about people I have never met? "Oh yeah, I remember that weird girl who brought her own pample-mousse La Croix to Callie's birthday party... and her own weird snacks... and actually packed them all up and brought them with her when she left?"

Taking it a step further, I pride myself on not being a picky eater at all. Was I going to be that annoying person who grills a waiter on every single itty-bitty ingredient in every dish? Talk about a pain in the ass! Totally embarrassing.

Through January and February, I hemmed an hawed about whether or not I'd tackle this challenge. And then something really obvious occurred to me.

Why not ask Josh if he'd do the Whole30 with me?

He said yes, and not even that reluctantly. Turns out, like me, he'd always wanted to try something like this but had never had the balls to commit. Hmmm. That prompted me to take yet another obvious step.

I asked my friends if they wanted to do the Whole30, too.

I crafted an email explaining the eating plan and sent it to 12 people. Much to my surprise, six of them said they were game!

With that, we picked a start date (March 10), scoured the Internet for recipes and meal planned like crazy. We shared Costco goods, cleaned out our pantries and fridges. It was actually really fun.

All stocked up on Whole30 crud. Let's get this party started!

We even celebrated "Fat Sunday" the day before our we officially kicked off our thirty days of culinary madness. Even just in the planning stages, I could tell doing this with a group is the way to go. Lots of enthusiasm & support.

We "won" (yuck!) shots in Lyndale Taphouse's trivia on Fat Sunday. Normally, we'd leave 'em alone. Not on Fat Sunday! Cheers to one of my W30 compadres, Liz!

Over the next month, I'll be sharing the highs, lows, recipes and challenges we've faced through our Whole30 challenge.

If you have any suggestions, please feel free to comment your face off below.

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Spoiler alert: We already did the entire Whole30. Here's how our group felt during the process, plus our before and after pics!

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#149. Answering Trivia at Caribou Coffee.

TEN WHOLE CENTS?! That's like a dime... or two nickels!

Caribou is to Minnesota what Starbucks is New York (or what Amish furniture stores are to Pennsylvania). They're frickin' everywhere.

I've probably stopped at a Caribou once a week for the last seven years. I like Caribou for three specific reasons:

1. They've outfitted all the locales in a comfy lodge motif.

2. They call their drinks by regular size names (small, medium, large) that don't make you feel like a douchebag when you utter them aloud. Come on, a grown-ass adult should not be enforced to order anything grande except maybe a taco.

3. Their coffee doesn't consistently taste like burnt toast.

Another one of their "things" that I've silently enjoyed is their daily trivia question. In essence, an employee writes a trivia question on a blackboard in a neon marker. Typically, there is some rudimentary art involved. If a patron guesses the correct answer, they get... drumroll.... ten cents off their coffee!

I always read the trivia question but have NEVER answered, even if I'm 100 percent certain.

I like the trivia thing, but there are a few reasons why I don't speak up. First of all, when do you say the answer? "I'll take a medium dark roast with room and... Kevin Costner in Dances with Wolves?" I don't know, it seems silly to interject that info on top of a coffee order you hope the barista won't forget.

Also, I think there is something really yucky about people stating their correct trivia answer all smug-like. Ew, it's just for ten cents off your coffee. Relax, hotshot. I do not want to be that person.

Lastly, what if I answer the question wrong and look like a fool?! Will the people behind me in line think I'm an idiot? Will the guy ringing me up think to himself, "I can't believe she thought the answer was Deep Space Nine. Clearly, it's The Next Generation. What a dummy."

Ten cents off my coffee is no bargain when all of this is at stake. It's easier to just pretend I didn't see the trivia question and move it along. Yeah, I know... I coulda saved like twenty bucks over the years, but my good name is worth it.

However, I finally spoke up when I saw this question:

"This famous chef/author was also the host of the TV show No Reservations."

Anthony Bourdain, obviously. Ah, what the hell. I tacked on my answer to the end of my order (and tried to not say it too smugly). The barista barely noted my correct answer, though my coffee cost $2.04 instead of $2.14, so he must've heard me.

The whole thing was really anticlimactic.

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#147-148. Stand-up Comedy, Class #1

What's the deal with airline food? Amiright?!

Can you think of anything scarier than performing standup? Me neither, so I signed up for a four-week class with comedian Scott Novotny at the Phipps Theater.

When you think about it, what's really so scary about doing stand-up? It's literally just you, saying something you've had plenty of time to craft and think about. It's not like you don't have a plan. You do (or at least you should!). However, most of us have a hard enough time with public speaking... and now you add 'trying to be funny' to the mix. Even watching standup comedians (especially newbies) can be so incredibly uncomfortable. The only thing I can think of that would be worse than watching someone bomb on stage is being the person bombing.

Our first class met last Monday and it seemed most people were scared shitless, which actually made me feel better. The twelve of us took our seats at 7pm sharp, facing nothing but a big, black theater with a lone microphone. Ugh. Scott did a nice little welcome thing, then immediately got crackin' on the teaching.

Our first drill was so awkward and kind of amazing. Simply stand in front of the group and say your name into the mic. Then, you just hang out up there as 11 strangers judge you only by your name and looks. Scott asked questions like, How old do you think they are? (OMG, that lady looks at least fifty... but she could potentially be 38... I'm gonna just let someone else guess), What do they do for a living? (hit man? Professional taxi driver? Librarian?) Are they married? Kids? What kinds of jokes do you think they'd tell? It was the first time in my life I was publicly encouraged to be judgmental. How great is that!

I was third to go. As you can see in the above photo, I'd worn jeans, mukluks, a V-neck tee with a grey cardigan and a big ol' scarf. I approached the mic and said my name, then stood back and smiled, my subtle way of saying "be nice, please."

"She's a student. 24-years-old."

"Maybe 27."

"Yeah, she's definitely single. Had a lot of boyfriends."

"Probably a teacher."

"Yeah, a special ed teacher."

"Or maybe a secretary."

"Irish. Definitely Irish."

"I think she's artsy."

"She'll probably tell a lot of jokes about dating. Lots of men jokes."

YOU GUYS. How great is that? I am not any of those things! I'm a 31-year-old food and travel writer who's been in a committed relationship for nearly six years and is getting married. I'm scandinavian. Men jokes are not really my thing, either. But isn't it so interesting to have a candid glimpse at what you might look like to other people? I loved it!

Anyhow, our intros took up much of the class. Then, Scott gave us an assignment: write our first 5-8 minute act. He gave us some guidelines, which I am not going to get into. After all if you knew what I was going to say, would you even bother going to our showcase?

Yes, we have a "recital" on Tuesday, March 25 at the Phipps Theater. Just putting that information out there makes me want to barf (#148). One of my biggest fears is feeling foolish in front of people you know and respect. But if I want to really face my fears, I must spread the word. So mark your calendars. And if you come, bring me some Xanax.

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#146. What It's Like to Do the Polar Bear Plunge.

Guess which one of us was regretting signing up for the Polar Bear Plunge?

Preference: marathon or polar bear plunge?

In January, I would've definitely said my preference = plunge. 10 seconds of pain versus four hours? Duh. However, after completing my first polar bear plunge, running a marathon doesn't really sound so terrible.

I wasn't excited for the polar plunge.

At all.

This is the coldest Minnesota winter of my life. I can barely walk from my front door to my car without wanting to throw in the towel. The idea of jumping into a freezing cold lake on a five degree day (oh, and a windchill of -19, no biggie) made me want to cry. However, my beyonce, Josh, signed both of us up for his company's huge Polar Bear Plunge team. Between the two of us, we'd raised a few hundred bucks (all proceeds went to the Special Olympics).

My hands were tied. I was jumping.

I felt some comfort in the fact that our frozen jump into White Bear Lake was going to be quick. Organizers basically cut a big hole in the ice, then plungers (who are required to wear some sort of foot protection... I wore old sneakers) jump into the lake. Fully clothed, possibly in a costume, or if you're nuts, a swim suit (not recommended). You exit the swimming hole via metal stairs in the water.

This sounded awful, but way better than what our plunge friends in Chicago had to do: run into Lake Michigan from the beach, then back out again. That sounds agonizing! Or at least it sounded agonizing until I heard that Chicago cancelled their event that day due to frigid temperatures.

Pussies.

The anticipation was far worse then the jump.

Between registration (which was at a hotel a few miles from the lake), taking a school bus to the plunge site, finding our group, changing into our jumping gear and waiting for our group to be called was 90 minutes, but felt like an eternity. This waiting around stuff (which was mostly outside!) gave me all sorts of time to imagine my heart stopping once my body hit the water. That's something I've heard happens when people who shock their system, right?

Urban legend or not, it freaked me out.

Watch the action unfold in the below video.

From queueing up at the hole in the ice to running back into the sort of heated tent, where I ripped off my wet clothes faster than you can say hypothermia, the actual ordeal took less than a minute.

Did I mentioned I got dry humped by a very drunk woman in the changing area? Well, I did and so did eight or nine other ladies. Many people were drunk. Can you blame them?

I've had a few week's space from the plunge and oddly enough, I would probably do the plunge again. I think my enthusiasm may have been inspired by these wings at Beartown. We mowed down a huge plate post-plunge.

Trust me, Josh and I earned every bite.

Apres plunge at Beartown in White Bear Lake... recommended.

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PS Other physical challenges I've done since starting Hey Eleanor? I jumped out of an airplane, and once went SCUBA diving. Both were way more fun than I'd expected.

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#141-145. Sporting 4-Day Dirty Hair.

Even on day one, I was sporting a horrific "shark bang," one of many bad hair terms I've coined.

On the night I mustered up the courage to sing in an improv show, I met a bodacious blonde named Elizabeth. She's one of those chicks who can rock the whole vintage pinup girl look and it doesn't seem one bit costume-y. I complimented Elizabeth on her victory rolls (or whatever that hairstyle is called). She was all "Oh, this ol' thing... I literally haven't washed my hair in four days. Actually... you should try that for your blog."

There are plenty of women in my life who can go two, three, even seven-plus days without shampooing. Sure, they might wet their hair, but they don't wash it. I, on the other hand, must lather up daily. When I try to squeak out a second day, I start obsessing over my bangs mid-morning, which are the first things to split into piece-y sections that lay every-which-way-but-acceptably (I've dubbed this look "shark bang" and I am sporting it the photo at the top. I hate shark bang!). Once I start obsessing about my hair's dirtiness, I start touching it. When I touch it, it only gets greasier. At this point, I start wishing I'd thrown a stocking cap in my purse. By the end of the day, I can barely wait to get home to either wash my hair or put it in a top knot.

I believe my hair goes from fabulous to stringy-gross in 20 hours. I keep hearing I shouldn't wash it daily because it strips your tresses of their natural goodness. And yes, you non-daily hair washers RAVE about the awesome texture their hair takes on after a few days. I want to know that feeling! I've just always been too scared to try it. I think it stems back to this one time in 7th grade when I went two days without washing my hair. I will never forget this because Mike Graham, who I had a total crush on, turned around during Ms. Meyer's algebra class and told me: "Your hair looks weird today... did you put too much 'stuff' in it?" No, in fact that is just its natural filth. I've feared two days sans washing ever since.

I'd given up on my dream of unwashed hair. Then, three miraculous things happened.

#1. I received this Klorane Gentle Dry Shampoo with Nettle sample in my Birchbox.

Think of it as a water-free way to soak up the nasties in your dirty hair.

#2. I rediscovered DevaCurl.

It's a really bad name for great sulfate-, silicone- and paraben-free hair products that turn a frizzy curly mess into fabulousness.

#3. I was in humid Miami for five days for SoBe Wine & Food Fest.

This basically meant that no matter what, my hair would look like shit. So, armed with my dry shampoo and my DevaCurl conditioner, styling gel, and their "Set It Free Moisture Lock Spray," I washed my hair on Friday and left it until Monday night.

Day one (pictured above, #141) was nothing special, aside from the fact that my hair curled like crazy and I had shark bang.

Mw with my friend/coworker/partner in crime, Dusti. She only has to wash her hair once a year or something.

The real challenge started on day two (#142). I took a shower that morning (conditioner only), then used the DevaCurl gel. I dried my bangs like normal. They felt completely different-- thicker, heavier and actually easier to work with. I think it's literally due to the salty air and I kind of liked it. Once my hair dried, I gave it a dusting of dry shampoo to soak up any oil. As you can see from the photo above, my hair looked about the same as the night before (except less shark bang).

Even at midnight, it was still holding up (see photo below)! PS that's Robert Irvine. I've never seen his show... shhh. This look did require one additional item: a cheesy comb (like the one you got on school photo day), which reminded me of something Michael J. Fox would've stored in the back pocket of his Levi's circa 1984. Whatever, they helped keep the bangs in place. An indispensable tool!

I might shave my head if this experiment ends poorly... you never know.

As my office's unofficial event photographer, I always have pictures of everyone but myself at these crazy food festival work weekends. Hence, this my only photo of Day 3 (#143), courtesy of my friend Doug Quint's (aka Big Gay Ice Cream) Instagram feed. Follow him and you will not regret it! You can't really see my hairstyle, but you can see that the roots don't look grody at all. Dry shampoo, I love ye.

And here she is, the Day 4 'do (#145):

Surprisingly, my hair has volume! My bangs gave up completely and joined the rest of my hair, but I'd say no bangs are better than shark bangs. I have those lovely, piece-y, defined curls people rave about! I think a lot of this success can be attributed to mother nature (salt, humidity, sand), but I also think it had a lot to do with me pushing through my day two fears. I felt so confident in my dirty hair, I offered to go to our hotel's lobby & get coffee for my coworker/friend/bunkmate Dusti and myself with bed head! I didn't even put on make up or a bra (#145... I can't stand not wearing a bra! It weirds me out. I feel like everyone is just looking at my boobs. It makes me so uncomfortable and I don't know how you hippies do it!). I just went out in public, au natural, with dirty-ass hair. It was liberating.

And what's crazy is that I haven't washed my hair on two consecutive days since. I am a changed woman. Thanks for the challenge, Elizabeth!

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#140. Interview the Great Trisha Yearwood.

As a celeb's "minion" (I hate that word), I meet a decent amount of celebs. When I say celebs, I really mean celebrity chefs. Though I work for a celebrity chef (I'm talking about Andrew Zimmern, btw), I'll admit that I watch surprisingly little food television. I'm surrounded by that stuff at work, why subject myself to it when I am home? Therefore, when I meet other celebrity chefs, I barely even know who they are, save Paula, Emeril, Martha and Guy (they're fine, but I am not a big fan of any of them... shhh).

However, there's this fantastic thing going on in the food TV space called "every celebrity is into cooking." Even legit ones like Debi Mazar (have you seen her show on Cooking Channel??), Aziz Ansari and Christopher Walken. Where there are food fests, there are real celebs. And one of my favorites was co-judging Burger Bash at South Beach Food & Wine Festival (where I had the pleasure of thawing out from this stupid polar vortex)...

Trisha Yearwood.

As you may know, I co-host a podcast with Andrew called Go Fork Yourself. We talk food, restaurants, chefs, and pop culture. Andrew's job at Burger Bash was to judge burgers; my job was to get good interviews for the podcast. Trishia Yearwood = gold, and there she was, sitting right next to my boss for three hours, having nothing to do but eat & judge 12 burgers between hanging out & chatting with AZ. I mean, talk about teeing it up for me!

Normally, I come prepared with questions for the podcast, but this time I figured I'd wing it. How hard is it to come up with softball questions about food, burgers and escaping the freezing cold winter for hot, sweaty Miami? I wasn't anticipating meeting the woman behind "XXXs & OOOs" and "She's In Love with the Boy" and my favorite, "In Another's Eyes," that duet she sings with her now HUSBAND, GARTH BROOKS (!!!). This is one of a handful of songs I love blasting in my car while fighting back the tears because it is so damn good. It'll rip your heart out of your chest, even though you know it's about two people cheating/wanting to cheat on their spouses! Agghhhrrrghhh!! Emotions!!! All of a sudden I was tongue tied and freaking out. What if I said the wrong thing? What if she didn't like me? Or, worst of all, what if I didn't like her? Would her songs be forever tainted?

It took me 20 minutes to work up the courage to ask her if she'd like to do a GFY interview, which was awkward because I was kind of just standing in front of her in a not-too-crowded VIP space. Eventually, I sputtered out the words (which probably sounded like a grown-up journalist's version of "willyougotopromwithme?") and she said yes. Of course she was completely gracious and classy and funny. Much to my surprise, she confided that she felt like an impostor because she's just a home cook, not a "chef" and didn't feel qualified to be a judge because she just likes plain ol' burgers. Yep, Eleanor, I think Trisha was a little scared! It just so happened that I knew that the other three judges (you know, "real chefs") also prefer plain burgers. I told her that, and I think it actually made her feel better. Aren't conversations great?!