My dad was a personal trainer, bodybuilder, and true superfood enthusiast. The only thing he could “fix” was someone’s love handles or bad posture. He is the only human I know who would happily eat spirulina-chlorella pie on his birthday. Favorite meal? Salmon patties with creamed peas. I say this with love, Dad. You’re one of a kind. Growing up, exercise wasn’t punishment, it was fun. My first ski trip out west, I was four. By the end of the trip, my twin brother and I were skiing double black diamonds. Did we eat food in the lodge like the other kids? Absolutely not. We packed grilled chicken thighs, raw bell peppers, oranges, and the occasional string cheese. After school, instead of going home, my twin brother, Matt and I went to the athletic club where my dad worked, our very expensive babysitter. We swam, we played racquetball, we lifted weights at twelve years old, and on the ride home from the club, my dad would sometimes make a very special stop at GNC. He’d let my brother and I pick out any protein bar we wanted. To me, it felt indulgent, like other kids getting candy at the checkout line. To everyone else, it probably looked completely unhinged.
There was never a day we didn’t take a spoonful of cod liver oil, never a summer without hiking sand dunes or water skiing. Eventually, I realized something shocking: this was not normal. By high school, my friends were no longer interested in my family vacations. They were tired of “working out for fun,” and I wanted to be normal. So, I rebelled. Hard. I had never heard of White Castle or Chick-fil-A until I was sixteen, and wow. Rice-a-Roni. Oatmeal cream pies. Doritos. It felt like freedom. At seventeen, I got a job at Johnny Rockets, unlimited burgers, fries, milkshakes. Living. My. Best. Life. Except… I wasn’t. I gained weight. I developed asthma. I was put on an inhaler. And as a competitive track athlete, losing wasn’t part of my personality. That’s when I realized something: I didn’t want to eat healthy because someone told me to. I wanted to eat in a way that made me feel powerful. “Mom… I need you.”
Life with my Mom was delicious. Growing up in a big Lebanese family, she learned early that the kitchen is the heart of the home. She shows love by feeding people, it’s in her bones. We once rolled 2,000 grape leaves for my high school open house. Bitlawa became a two-person sport, layers of phyllo, butter, laughter, and patience. And somehow, she made even my dad’s superfoods taste good. She taught me something that no textbook ever could: food is more than fuel. Food is tradition. Food is comfort. Food is connection. When someone passes away, we still make pineapple upside-down cake. It was her mother’s tradition, and her mothers before that. Traditions are edible love letters. Food doesn’t fix grief, but it softens it. It gathers people. It gives your hands something to do when your heart doesn’t know where to go.
And somewhere between grape leaves and cake pans, I learned that nourishment is layered. It’s not just what’s on the plate, it’s who’s around the table. As I began to incorporate this style of eating in my own way, blending tradition with intention, something powerful happened. I lost weight without “trying.” My asthma disappeared. I put down my inhaler for good. I started running the best times of my life. When I left for college to study dietetics and exercise science, I wasn’t chasing a career. I was chasing a truth I had already lived: you don’t have to choose between enjoying your food and feeling good. You can have both—cake and wheatgrass. Now as a private chef, cookbook author, yoga instructor, and the registered dietitian at On Target Living, I teach a common-sense approach to wellness in a world filled with extremes.
Our family is on a mission to help people discover the power of feeling their best! Hey, if you can't beat em,' join them!
