Living Right A'int Easy

ME on a diet doesn't work so well. I never liked the word 'diet' anyway. I've begun to notice how increasingly difficult it is telling people things like "I played football all through high school" and "yeah, I'm a certified Spinning instructor and used to train fat kids back home". I can still say those things, only now through slightly embaraased blushing while noticing how confused my audience typically seems. "You?!? No WAY!". Yeah, go ahead, say it. I know that's what you're thinking, right? SAY IT!

I don't think I'm as unhealthy on the outside as I am on the inside and I'm beginning to notice little creaks and snaps and pulls and aches and bumpy things on my eye lids when I close my eyes slightly to fix my graying hair in the rearview mirror. Billions of others have experienced these very same things, but this is NOT supposed to happen to me. It's all very gross, like feet.

So I've been on this passive health surge the last couple of months. The fish oil supplements, the homemade shakes with psyllium husks and fresh blueberries and natural whey protein, not the synthetic crap; suffering with hunger and fish burps and nausea when taking my vitamins too early without regard to my stomach being slightly empty with the exception of said homemade shake or a strawberry SlimFast. HOW do people do this? Just where the hell DOES People Magazine and Women's World and Men's Health find all those reformed, former fatties they plaster across their covers on any given month with the boldface proclamations "How I lost 120lbs without surgery"; fatties are typically right there on the cover staring at me in all their swimsuit-donning, air-brushed glory. But I digress.

I've been trying to eat fresher things trying my damdest to avoid bad stuff, but have you realized that everything is made with high fructose corn syrup, from ketchup to steak sauce, two of the basic food groups in any man's diet? Yup.

All that being said, it should come as no surprise that as I'm cursing the aisle of Foodies Urban Market on Saturday, I'm assaulted by bag of Tostitos flour tortilla chips, apparently stacked too high and just waiting to fall on my head and bounce off into my basket. I was afraid I'd be blamed on dropping them and ruining the crunchy carby goodness therein, so I kept them. Along with a jar of extra chunky salsa that was already in the basket when I took it. And perhaps its less than ironic that as I'm checking out, I see my most favorite candy bar in the world, typically hard to come by, the Hershey S'more Bar; and it's just sitting there, alone, the last of it's breed and who knows when I'll come across the divine confection again. I simply couldn't pass it up and a voice from above told me to take it, its very presence being a phenomenon, like seeing a Leprechaun or an image of the Virgin Mary in your Mac-N-cheese. So I took that too and for one, guilty yet regretless afternoon, I was complete. ...True story.

Posted by JD on August 20, 2007 6:41 PM