But...there exists for me, a kind of kryptonite that is able to out-maneuver most carrots and kick the asses of virtually all brussel sprouts(except those really really big ones). Thus, occasionally, I slip (swan dive) off the health wagon and land squarely in the middle of a puddle (Lake...one of the Great ones) of butter.
Short pause while I undergo a bypass.
Shoveled onto mashed potatoes, applied the-opposite-of-sparingly to a warm ear of corn, tempting lobster chunks to bathe in it, suffocating unsuspecting pierogies...one taste and all I can think is, "you, complete me." And, I have come to realize that I even prefer the taste of butter to that of chocolate.
Dear Friends and Family Members who have, throughout the years, talked me down from the ledge of many a Whitman's Sampler as I stood clinging to the last dark-chocolate caramel, I sincerely apologize for the concussion you each just incurred upon falling off your respective chairs'.
To combat the ill-effects of all things churned, I work-out at the local gym- lifting weights, doing sit-ups and walking uphill on the treadmill. But, upon hearing from several friends that running is the fastest and easiest way to stay in shape...I decided to try it out. I have never been a runner, except for that time in high school when I joined the cross-country team and then quit (was asked to leave) after the first day (1/2 hour) because I got yelled at for bending over to tie my shoe in the middle of a run (fell over from a side stitch before reaching the end of the school campus), but my brother was an accomplished cross-country runner back-in-the-day, so i figure it’s in the genes. I'm gonna be great at this.
My Jogging Diary:
Day 1: Left apartment at 3:40 pm and set about on jog through lovely Beverly Hills. Returned to apartment at 4:03 pm and set about lying on lovely floor trying not to cough up lovely blood.
Day 2 (technically day 4-took 3 days to convince self to run again): Left apartment with positive attitude. Made it four blocks and was about to stop when spotted Michael Madsen in car at stop sign. Ran enthusiastically 'til car out of sight. Crawled home with visions of oxygen tanks dancing in head.
Day 3: Ran to corner. Pre-run baked potato possible bad idea. Abort.
Day 4: Shins hurt. Who needs in shape shins. Abort.
Day 5: American Idol on. Abort.
Day 6: Abort.
Even though I was only a runner for 6...5...okay 2 days, I do not consider this endeavor a failure because I gained some very valuable information in the process. For one, ectomorphs don't run. Secondly, if we do run, we will be back home before the red "pause line" on the tivo moves 1/4 inch. And, finally, trying new things gives me something to blog about.
Update: since the commencement of my jogging experiment I have also discovered that ectomorphs don't do yoga, jump rope or use stair climbers.