Thursday, September 29, 2011

I’m calling it an accidental health regimen, because I never meant for any of it happen. Did my best to turn a blind eye to every tennis court I’d pass, tore down any Boot Camp posters I found, and made sure to stay far, far away from anything remotely resembling an elliptical machine. What I’ve been doing, instead, is clocking in hours of ping-pong, ceasing to eat whenever I feel full, and making my way out to the putting green during the day.

Now, three weeks later and eight pounds lighter, I’m feeling great, with the full weight of momentum behind me. None of it is rocket science, frankly. When you spend most of your day locked into a cubicle, anything that gets you moving is a boon, and that’s why I need ping-pong and the green. As for watching what I eat, well, I haven’t. That’s probably what I need to do next, admittedly, but for now, I’ve gotten substantial mileage out of something Deadpan once told me, which was to renounce my membership in the Clean Plate Club. He was absolutely right.

Eventually, you reach a point where you feel fuller with less food. Perhaps it’s a consequence of a smaller stomach? I’d like to think so. Whatever the science may be, it’s yielded a very tangible sense of progression. Tomorrow will be interesting, though, because it’s Friday. Friday! Or, if my lunch plans have anything to say about the matter, Fryday, the hallowed time of week when we shall determine, definitively, how a bacon cheeseburger can find provenance in a balanced diet.