This week I talked about how it sucked being sick. You know what else sucks? Being fat. Fat! The BCPF hates when I call myself that, but you know what? If the corduroy pants don’t fit, you can’t wear them. I have no clue what that means, but I typed it anyways.
This morning I was putting two tires in the back of Monte (my very tired Montero Sport) and just putting those in left me winded for about 10 minutes. Granted I was bent over trying to get as much water as possible out of them before putting them in her back hatch (wow that sounded much dirtier that I would have ever meant it to) and what have you, but dang! That still sucks. I clock in just under (presumably) 300 lbs. That’s a lot of weight. Not good on the joints, the heart, other functions, even the mind.
I have fitness friends and I have people talking about diets and all that jazz, but here’s the thing: I can’t give up the beer and I hate the feeling of adrenaline rushes. The beer thing isn’t an alcoholic issue, it’s a monetary issue. I have the ability to say that I “get paid to drink beer.” Not a shload, mind you. One of the things that The Less Desirables does is review beer. We have an “Official Beer Sponsor” in City Beverage in Winston-Salem. People listen to hear about the beer and our thoughts. Sponsor=pay. Also, I started the new show, The Beer Dads in the last few weeks so that’s another one. The premise is beer (and dads). There are a few other instances that beer is either payment or the subject in my life.
When I was a much smaller thing I did exercise to the extent that I would walk a few times a week. I just absolutely hate the feeling of adrenaline and endorphins… phooey. People furrow their brows when I say that but it’s true. I don’t ride thrill rides, I don’t exercise, I just don’t. Do I feel better afterwards? Yes, but that feeling doesn’t equate or necessitate the need for the feeling I get while exercising.
Now, I get the other side of that. Health. Staying healthy is important, I know. But, I don’t want any part of that other stuff. No. No way. Huh uh. Forget it.
Do you, Dear Reader, have any suggestions otherwise? Or coping with the endorphin/adrenaline issue? I’m open. I feel like a tub o’lard and don’t like that at all.
Until tomorrow, same blog channel…
“It’s simple. If it jiggles, it’s fat.” – Arnold Schwarzeneggar