So a while back, I wrote about my attempt to get in shape and lose the poundage I gained after nearly a year of being sedentary (damn old back). Being a couch potato didn’t suit me much. But when just about every step felt like what I imagine a lightening bolt to the back feels like, the thought of exercising never entered my mind.
And you know what goes along with being a couch potato? You guessed it. Eating, that’s what. During the height of the pandemic, I, like millions of Americans, ate more than my fair share of potatoes.
So with my lack of mobility, those spuds headed directly for my thighs. And stomach. And hips. Pretty much everywhere except my ankles. Those were unscathed, thank you very much. But then I got an epidural for my back, which didn’t help much. Months later I got another and lo and behold, the pain was gone. Strike up the band!
I must confess. Since the holidays I’ve been chowing down like it’s my last few days on earth. Yours truly is eating like calories don’t count. So I’m not counting them. I’m going to be cremated so I’m not worried about fitting into a casket; I’m more concerned about fitting into my pants tomorrow.
If only it were this easy
Now don’t get me wrong. I have no plans to die anytime soon and I don’t mean to make light of death (even though this is presumably a humor blog). I also know I’m being extremely superficial here…all points worth noting before I continue.
I’m joining a friend for a movie and I’m bitterly aware of the fact I have few pants that are not, shall we say, uncomfortably snug. Besides, I feel better when I’m 10 pounds lighter than I currently possess. It’s hard to accomplish that, though, when one is a sugar addict, as I wrote in Confessions of a Sugar Addict.