I’ve just completed Day Two of Operation: Stop Being Such a Flabby Sack of Crap. Hooray! I’m dying. I’d like to thank my exercise bike for being my sweat- and suffering-inducing tormentor. Two days down, the rest of my life to go.
I thought people were lying when they said that your body magically becomes fat at age 30, but no! Since I hit that grim number, I’ve steadily thickened. It probably doesn’t help that right around the time I turned 30 I started dating a girl whose eating habits were the opposite of mine (I prefer a solid lunch and a light dinner, she prefers to eat her large meal later in the day) and moved away from Nob Hill and thus no longer walk a mile downhill to work every day. I’ve been trying to eat carefully lately, but to no real avail. Meanwhile, I ate like a pig in Japan but lost quite a bit of weight since I was walking several miles a day. Thus I realize the indubitable importance of exercise and must sadly bid my sedentary life farewell.
Notice the distinct lack of Wii Fit in this plan! Video games (or at least a motionless life of writing about them) got me into this predicament. I don’t trust them to turn the situation around.
Anyway, my legs have solidified from their gelatinous state in the time it took to write this, so now I shall hobble into the kitchen for a
giant bowl of ice cream tiny morsel of dry toast and water. (That’s “dry toast” and “water,” not toast and water that are both dry. Just in case you mis-parsed that sentence. Right. Anyway.)