Let me backtrack a little. On Easter Sunday I went to my morning yoga class, as usual. Among other things, we worked on balancing poses. (My tree pose was steady as a rock, if I may say so...) On the way home I was offered a ride, but decided to walk to the shopping area in my neighborhood and see whether any stores were open. I was hoping to find some fruit for a tart I wanted to take to an Easter dinner I'd been invited to. I was also worrying about being out late on a Sunday night, and not getting enough sleep to start the week. I had been running around all day on Saturday, so I was thinking about that, too, and reliving some of the fun stuff. And I was thinking about what kind of week I had ahead of me. In other words, I was in the future, and I was in the past, but what I was not thinking about was where my feet were going in the present moment. So the sidewalk took the opportunity to trip me.

I didn't fall (thank you, yoga!), but I did a pretty interesting maneuver in order to stay upright, involving flailing arms and a hip-twist or two. A man across the street smiled, but didn't stop to wonder whether I was okay. I guess I looked fine. In fact, I felt mostly fine. I circled my ankle a couple of times, took a couple of gingerly steps, and then went on my way to the store. It hurt at first, but then the pain went away.

Well, I didn't make the tart, and I didn't make it to the dinner, because I had actually broken a bone in my foot (although I thought it was just a sprain at the time) and putting on a shoe and going anywhere was, shall we say, problematic.

Anyway, back to the bagels. I used to be a bagel-a-day girl. I moved to New York City partly for the bagels. (Okay that's stretching it a little, but not all that much...) I was even a bagel snob. Essa hands down over H&H, both over the usual deli kind for sure, and don't even get me started on frozen.

I was also a crash-at-3p.m. type.

As I started to learn more about how food affects me, I began to realize that my beloved bagel was doing me wrong. It was just too much sugar and not enough nutrients. Plus, most bagels are equal to about 5 slices of bread. There are a lot more interesting things I could do with all of those calories! So I began to replace them with things that worked better for me, like oatmeal with nuts and raisins, and hard-boiled eggs. Eventually, they were gone altogether.

I hadn't had a bagel in a very long time when the feeling overwhelmed me the other day. Now, I've been trained to "deconstruct" cravings - take a moment to take a look at what may be causing it, and what, besides the food screaming in your head to be eaten, might satisfy it. In other words, what need really needs to be met. (Hint, it isn't always, or even, usually, about the food.) And so I deconstructed. My broken foot was clearly the reason. Physical trauma equals feeling sorry for myself and wanting - what else - comfort! As for something else to satisfy the craving? Walking sometimes works for me, but obviously that was out. I didn't have any good whole grain bread with me, or a place to get it easily. I suppose I could have journaled about it, but I needed to get to work. And my husband wasn't around to hug. So here's what I did: I ate the bagel. A 9-grain honey bagel. With butter. (The available cream cheese wasn't very appealing.)

I ate it slowly. I chewed. I enjoyed. And you know what? I didn't need another bagel! I didn't want coffee with it! And no, I did not go on to have ice cream for dinner! (I have been known to do that.) I just enjoyed my breakfast and then went on with my day.

Sometimes we become so afraid of certain foods, that we feel like we're "falling off the wagon" if we eat them. That they'll start us right back on the road to all the unhealthy behaviors we've worked so hard to rid ourselves of. But you know what? Sometimes a girl just needs a bagel. And I'm learning that that's okay.