In Bad Shape  

As you may or not be aware of, I recently made a (apparently preemptive) public decision to shed some unwanted baby fat in 2010, turning a defiant eye to all the people who've complimented on my ever-growing neck waddle. The sad fact is that there are considerations other than my chubby good looks in play here, such as a very strong desire to live long enough to harrass and abuse the inevitable string of teenage suitors my daughter will face in the next 7-10 years. Come to think of it, I'd really like to see myself around for another 40 so I can extend a similar service to any granddaughters I might have.

In a perfect world of zero accountability and Oreos fortified with Olestra, I could move forward, business as usual while bullshitting my internet friends at how successful this last month is been. Too bad past Jay knew better and instituted that barely noticeable weight tracking section on the bottom right of my sidebar. That and I have several readers who know me in real life and take great pleasure in calling me out on things.

Take a second to look at the numbers down there -- 8 pounds in a month. Perhaps a valiant effort under certain circumstances, but by no means my current one. I know this because I've progressed very little down the avenues of lifestyle change and/or general effort. The only thing remotely different is that I'm eating slightly less than I was a month ago. Sadly, I've reached the end of the line for not trying. Starting next week, I'll not only be cutting my fried food intake further, I'll have to (someone hold me) finally start exercising again.

Please bow your heads in a moment of silence for my short-term well being.

Yes, you read that correctly; to jump back off the laziness wagon (or is it on the wagon? I don't know wagons) is an unavoidable invitation for me to hurt or embarrass myself in some ridiculous fashion. This is mostly because I shun traditional gyms and workouts in favor of running through the forest and tossing around logs and such. Allow me to enlighten you by way of sharing a few of the more humorous workout mishaps I've had in recent years:
  • Concussion (self-diagnosed, but still) and sprained ankle received after I fell off a poorly-constructed picnic table obstacle course of my own design.
  • Whipped myself in the cornea with a stick that my jump rope picked up off the ground.
  • Picture Jay, making good time on an early morning trail run, when he connects face first with a spiderweb. Being the mouth-breather I am, I inhaled a spider the size of a nickel. Sweet Christ it's in my mouth! No wait it's worse -- I fucking swallowed it! I fall to my knees and force myself to vomit, sobbing like a 3-year-old Glenn Beck. If everything up until that point wasn't one of the worst experiences of my young life, watching the little bastard crawl out of and away from my pile of sick certainly sealed the deal.
  • Pulled both my shoulders while carrying a log across my back and I tried passing in between two trees spaced closer together than the log was long (in my defense, it was semi-dark outside when this happened).
  • Got schooled by an eighth grader in an early morning pick-up game of basketball. Little bastard was barely 5' tall, if that (remember, I'm 6'7"), and he mockingly referred to me as "Sasquatch" the entire time.
  • Threw out my back when I sneezed while hunched over, tying my shoe. This one wasn't so much derivative of an atypical workout plan as much as it was just plain lame.
  • Was a few miles from home, tromping through the forest, when nature called to me in a different (and unexpectedly urgent) way. I went off-trail up through the brush so I could make, and while doing so lost my balance and rolled approximately 50 feet down an embankment. Other than the injuries sustained to my pride and an uncomfortable amount of dirt in my end zone, I actually walked away from this one unscathed.
Given the above track record, I think it's safe to say you can expect a headline in The Seattle Times next week that reads "Man Airlifted to Trauma Center After Near Decapitation in Seagull-Related Accident". Don't ask me how such a thing is even possible, but I can assure you that I'll be the only one who isn't surprised by it.

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23 Reasons to Live

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