Helping You Get the Most Out of Your Misery
Friday, February 22, 2008
So It's Come to This
It's been months since I've run. Months. When my back problems were at their worst, I didn't run because I was scared that my fucking spine would crack in two. Since my epidural, I've figured that I probably could run, but I've gotten out of the habit and, I was sort of giving myself the next shot (scheduled for Monday, for the record) as my target date.
Fuck that. If the sidewalks weren't covered in snow and I didn't have a bowl and a half of delicious macaroni and cheese in my stomach, topped off by a little bit--by which I mean a lot--of cookies and cream, I'd be out running right fucking now.
Y'see, my wife just needed some help figuring out the weight of some photographic equipment. She's got to lug it around for a race she's shooting tomorrow morning and wanted to know how much actual poundage she'd have strapped to her back. So I grabbed it and hopped on the scale. Then I set it down and weighed myself again to measure the difference.
And I fucking weigh over two hundred pounds. I'm about to puke all that food up. Two hundred motherfucking pounds! Never, never in my life, never in my 37 pathetic, flabby years on this planet, have I ever topped out over two hundred.
But now, after months of inactivity without the least little bit of dietary restraint, I'm fatter than I've ever fucking been in my life.
Fuck this. I'm running in that race tomorrow. I'm not going to sit idly by while my body starts to resemble a well-chilled mound of jell-o salad. I've never been what you'd call "happy" with my body, but I've never been frightened of it.
So I need to hit the streets. I hereby authorize any reader of this blog to smack desert out of my hand anytime you see me shoveling it toward my porcine face. Oh, sweet smoothie-drinking Jesus, my self-hatred knows no bounds.
If you'll excuse me, I'm going to cry gravy tears until I fall into a fat fucking sleep.
I can't be any help here. If I knocked the ho-ho's out of your hand, I'd probably eat them myself. I started swimming recently. I used to be a runner, but I find it uncomfortable to have my fat bounce so much, so I am trying out the shame of exposing my body in front of a bunch of athletes in the university pool. If that doesn't motivate me, nothing will.
Holy crap, really? I wouldn't have guessed 200.Post a Comment
See, the problem is you are too good at making the tasty baked goods.