Thursday, December 09, 2004

Fatty fatty fat fat

I can't remember one time in my life where I've been fat. As a kid and teenager, I was always involved in sports and games, and running around like a moron. Like most adults, that crap ended once I got a job. Sitting on one's behind for 8 hours is an excellent way to get a one-way ticket to having to buy two seats on the airplane.
As an adult, there is no such thing as playing. Now, we exercise. There might be a company softball team or something like that, but in reality, we have to drive ourselves to converted warehouses in order to make any progress. There are some advantages, of course- being able to take the treadmill behind the girl with the nice butt. She can give you a look, but you can just shrug and say "Hey, Treadmill".
I was shocked when I was with the wife and we were on some torturous adventure to find decorative towels or some inane material possession, and there was a scale on the ground. Now, the first law of Scales On The Ground is that you must always weigh yourself, followed closesly by the second law, which states that if the first scale does not give you a favorable result, you look for another scale "that isn't broken".
So, in accordance with the laws of Man and God, I stepped on the scale. And to my horror, it reported 200 lbs. 2 bills. I immediately looked around for another scale.
That was all of the impetus I needed. For 5 months, I calculated and ate right and exercised and worked my way back to a relatively svelte 175. I even maintained it relatively well, eschewing my favorite foods like Sugary Cola Drink,Salty Beef-like Snack Food and Sugary Cola Drink 2.
Now, when you sign up for a gym, there is a common knowledge that is shared between you and the gym-contract-guy. This unspoken bond basically says that you will sign up, work hard for between 3 weeks and 4 months or so, and then lose all composure and willpower and be back to eating Sweet Calvin's Doughy Fried Sugar Bombs while sitting on the couch, optionally with your hand in your pants.
You can, as most people do, deny this truth. You can smile sardonically at the gym guy with the sublime knowledge that you are the exception to the rule, and you will dutifully be there for the entire length of your contract, your sculpted bronzed body making a mockery of their supposition that you would fail. This is known as delerium, and you will fail, just like everybody else.
Alas, I have somewhat fallen prey to this demon, aided by it's friends wedding and Thanksgiving. Christmas lurks just beyond the corner, it's glowing sugarplum eyes bearing on me steadily. Yet I am not all gone- I still retain some of my fitness, and I have noticed the problem now, so I can focus and regain (or re-lose) what was lost (gained).
The plan, as I have mapped it out, is to become that sculpted Adonis by summer. Nobody will know of my secret until I whip off my shirt at the beach and, in addition to blinding everyone with my pale skin (Note to self: tan before summer), I will amaze them with my grater-like abs, my huge pectoral muscles, and my buttocks that can crack walnuts- NO! Hazelnuts! All will be amazed by my transformation, and when pressed about it, I will just lay a finger aside my nose and say "Product X!", for I will also have a major endorsement deal with some fitness company, which I forgot to mention previously.

Now, pass the gluten-free concentrated whey isolate. And the fudge ice cream. And forget about that whey crap.


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