As I’m writing this, green smoothie within reach, I wonder how my body would be feeling right now on a standard American diet now that I’ve just completed my third straight 12-hour day of heavy labor. Aside from some soreness all over my body when I move around, I feel good, considering I spent most of Wednesday digging post holes and filling them with concrete, most of Thursday raking, moving dirt and edging, which I repeated Friday along with moving 20 yards of mulch by hand. One thing’s for sure: I definitely wouldn’t be feeling this good if it weren’t for raw food.
Because of what raw food did for me and countless others, I set up a website so I could share my experiences. It did not have much content because I did not update it frequently, but it was enough for me to get the point across and perhaps generate some interest until I had more time to devote to it. Unfortunately, I did not renew my website hosting contract this year due to time and financial constraints, so I took the site down. Until it goes back online, I would like to share with you the very first rambling I wrote back in 2011, which was featured on one of the main pages of the website.
The cancer thing didn’t feel quite right. Being alive to suffer never made sense. Yet, people all around me were hurting, and I didn’t know that many people then. It the beginning, the amount wasn’t significant—at least not significant enough to notice. But then, the number grew. And grew. But why? I hardly knew that many more people. First, it was a high school interpreter, and then it was one of my teachers. Before I knew it, my neighbor was next. Then it hits my uncle. It was then that I started taking notice.
Immediate family members, too. Alright, so they didn’t have anything major but, still, it was enough to warrant the removal of cysts and minor tumors. And it wasn’t just cancer but other things as well. Blame it on the genes, some say. Others point toward environmental factors. Environmental factors? Somewhat understandable and controllable, although I felt there was more to it than just that. Genetics? That felt even worse, and not because the idea of inheriting a “bad” gene was scary but because that nagging feeling just wouldn’t go away. Information was what I needed. The truth was what I sought. Optimal health was my quest.
Along came diets and things like artificial sweeteners, additives and preservatives. Then hormones, pesticides and genetic modifications. Just as it was starting to make sense, it begins—the name calling, the fights the ridiculing. The “Don’t worry about it’s.” How could I not, especially since it still didn’t feel right? The quest for information in the pursuit of truth was not too hard to find, although it did take some time. I may have become somewhat of a seasoned digger for information, thus answering a lot of questions I had. However, I knew there was more out there, awaiting discovery.
In the meantime, if it was organic, then it was—for the most part—good for you. Burritos from happy chicken were the rage, as were cheese omelets from happy hens and raw milk from happy cows. Along with the occasional nonorganic pizza and ice cream, I may add. Skinny vegetarians and vegans were obviously depriving themselves as I worked fairly hard to maintain my lean 5-foot, 11-inch, 170-pound physique. It wasn’t 180, which I considered to be my ideal weight as an aspiring bodybuilder, but it was better than force-feeding myself with unnatural supplements to keep the weight up. It certainly was the omnivore’s delight—a life filled with fresh organic food that always seemed to satisfy.
No matter how satisfying the food was, how healthy I seemed, or even how great I felt, it wasn’t enough. And I knew it because I could feel it. Then one day, a friend from out of town asked to meet at this organic raw food café called Arnold’s Way, which just happened to be across town. Yet, I never heard of it. I walk up the steps to the café and instantly feel energy—energy that is filled with life, emanating from this place. Then I am greeted by a bold sign reading, “Let Food Be Your Medicine and Medicine Be Your Food.” Feeling the energy reel me in, I walk in as I await my friend.
I look around. There are bananas. A lot of ’em. A fridge filled with produce of sorts. Shelves stocked with supplements and condiments. Books taking up the opposite shelf. I look around some more. No raw milk? No eggs? Not even sprouted bread? What kind of place is this? Have these people gone bananas? Then a thought entered my head. Perhaps they know something I don’t know. Perhaps this guy—a cross between Mr. Miyagi and Yoda—who calls himself Arnold [Kauffman] had much more of a head start than I did. My friend came. We ate. The food was a little weird. Weird, but appetizing. Yet, I kept coming back. Not just because the food was great but because of the books, people and energy, all of which made being there feel good. For the first time ever, I had immediate access to so much information that came from nonbiased sources. I no longer had to search as it was all there, and every book had multiple answers, so all I had to do was go from book to book. And pick people’s brains.
Everything, for once, finally made sense. The information, for once, was nonconflicting and harmonious with the sources mentioned—unbiased sources talking about foods beaming with life and energy. How rejuvenating they are and what happens when dead foods are eliminated from one’s diet. Eliminating the cause to solve the problem. Gaining strength without practice. Losing weight without effort. Growing younger.
One year later. The Woodstock Fruit Festival—a grand international gathering of raw food people. A confirmation of everything I’ve come across since starting the quest for optimal health. Not just a celebration. The celebration. A raw celebration in the raw of the raw lifestyle. My gift to them. Their gift to us. A gift to myself. My gift to you, for I am Korey Constable, organic raw vegan.
Check out Korey’s transformation story!