More Exercise

I played squash on Sunday for the first time in a long time. I don’t want to toot my own horn, I’m not that flexible yet – last time I tooted my own horn I sprained my back and ended up in bed for three days, that just led to more horn tootin’, if you know what I mean – but, I digress, back to the squash match, I destroyed my opponent. So let that be a lesson to all you four year old girls with gimpy legs who think it’s funny to cut in line at the pony rides and then giggle uproariously when the proprietor tells me I’m too tall, old, fat and stupid to ride. Really, just too tall would have sufficed.

Bring the Pain

I went to see a personal trainer yesterday. I think they found this woman in a mental institution and hired her because she was able to say “three more, two more, fourteen more, a thousand more”. This woman had me stand on one leg, do a squat and with my opposing hand touch the foot that was on the ground. What am I, auditioning for Cirque de Soleil here? After the warm up I was pretty much ready to go home and breathe heavy for the rest of the night but she insisted on working me for the full 30 minutes. The only time I got breaks was when I was allowed some water. Then at the end of it she said, “you may be sore tomorrow”. Really, because I’m pretty freaking sore right now. Then she had the impudence to say the best thing for soreness is to exercise more. So let me get this straight, exercising makes me sore and then exercising more will make me not sore. Isn’t that kind of like poking somebody in the eye and when they say “ow” saying, sorry but I know what will clear that right up and poking them in the eye twice as hard. That’s all for now, I’m afraid if she sees me sitting down there will be hell to pay.

The Biggest Loser

We started a Biggest Loser contest at work on Monday. This isn't the kind of thing where you pick one unfortunate person and ridicule them about their clothes, complexion, hairstyle, running shoes, breath, parents, grandparents, second cousins and the fact that even though they're a boy they still dream of one day dancing the lead in Swan Lake. Incidentally, I "won" this contest in high school.

This Biggest Loser contest is the kind where the person who loses the highest percentage of weight wins. It's a $50.00 entry fee plus an extra $25.00 if you gain weight in the three months. Second place gets their money back and first place takes the rest so with 9 people in the contest the winner will receive $400.00; more if any of us blubberpots* gains weight and has to fork over an extra $25.00.

The initial weigh-in was Monday and I just happened to wear my chain mail armour suit and lucky concrete hat. Today, I wore my linen shorts and tank top and have lost 64 pounds already.

Knowing that we would be doing the weigh-in on Monday I treated Sunday as my last day of eating delicious food. I was like a convict on death row. Eggs Benedict and sausage for breakfast, KFC and poutine for dinner, ice cream and chocolate throughout the day. Since then however I have been slavishly dieting and exercising and I think I've hit upon the key reason I'm fat – I don't like to diet or exercise, it's really really hard. If I win this money I'm spending it on bacon, sugar cookies and foot massages. Why foot massages? Because I read somewhere (probably on a masochist's website) that health experts (a.k.a assholes) recommend walking 10,000 steps a day to promote good cardiovascular health. Well I've been doing this for a couple of weeks now and I don't know about my heart my feet look like a couple of apple fritters that were spray painted pink and then stepped on by a rhino. That's okay you say, as long as you're eating delicious healthy food. Last night for dinner I had an unsalted peanut and a flavoured ice cube. It's going to be three long months.

*While I said "us" blubberpots I'm really only referring to myself as a blubberpot. Most of the people in this contest are in peak physical condition and also have wonderful personalities. (C'mon, these are my co-workers, if I insult them too much they won't let me join the company country line dancing association.)

New Year's Resolutions

Every January 1st I take time to reflect on the year that passed and how I can make improvements to be a better person. I know this is past January 1st but one of my resolutions is to stop procrastinating. At least it was going to be. I’ll finish the list a little later. I have to be honest, with each new year I find less and less to improve upon. Other than weight, general health, personality, attractiveness, memory, driving ability, personal hygiene, artistic talent, memory, intelligence, typing skills, temper, attentiveness and foosball prowess there really isn’t much. That being said here are my New Year’s resolutions for 2008.

Get in better shape and become the world’s strongest man. Go big or go home, that’s my motto. Currently I rank just behind Stephen Hawking so I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me. In order to achieve this goal I may have to move to Iceland and change my name to Magnus.

Finish what I started. You hear me 140 piece puzzle of the Bay City Rollers I started in 1975? Only 136 pieces to go.

Take better care of my money. There are a lot of things that I waste money on. A solid gold diamond studded water dish for a dog! Come on. I don’t even have a dog. I also spend way too much money on haircuts. $4 a cut every 3 months for something I can do myself. Ridiculous.

Eat better. Just kidding, that should read – eat butter. Butter is nature’s greatest food and not only does it help me get in and out of my car (greasing myself up is just one of my weekend activities) but it tastes delicious on everything and I mean everything.

Stop peeping at the neighbours. My neighbours right now are hideous but they’re like a car wreck I can’t look away from. The woman looks like an old dish towel that somebody wrung out and has never regained its shape. If I get better looking neighbours this resolution comes off the list. Neighbours are free to peek at me to their heart’s content but despite my daily regimen of nude jumping jacks in front of the window I’ve had no takers thus far.

Happy Holidays

Christmas and New Years really is a magical time of year. For me it’s mainly because of the abundance of eggnog. I love eggnog. I don’t just mean that I find the taste enjoyable. I mean that I paint faces on the cartons and pretend they’re my children. I once tried to make it myself which is not advisable. Eventually my eyebrows grew back and I adapted well to having only one thumb.

Most years I don’t take any time off around Christmas. I just find that the office is fairly quiet and you get out early on the 24th and 31st so it’s kind of a waste of vacation days. This year though I took a few days off and was looking forward to 9 straight days to myself. I had big plans. Install an elevator in the apartment (it’s only one story but sometimes I like to drop in unannounced on the neighbors), reformat my computers, read and correct the complete works of Shakespeare (good writer, terrible speller), teach myself German and take another crack at eggnog making, to name a few. Sadly, this did not pan out. Why, read on and I’ll explain.

On the 24th my brother and I drove to our papa’s. The plan was we would stay overnight and leave sometime in the evening on Christmas day. My dad being well aware we’d be staying over had nothing prepared for us. I’m not expecting to be tucked in at night with a mint on the pillow but a pillow would have been nice. He gave us each a bath towel which he laughingly referred to as a blanket and two Kleenexes that if folded properly he claimed would be more than adequate for a pillow. I slept about 18 seconds that night and woke up shivering and with a blinding headache. The rest of the day was your usual Christmas hullabaloo, opening presents, eating turkey, etc.. We left in the evening and I spent the next 6 days wallowing in my own misery and coughing up the majority of my internal organs (if anyone needs a kidney I have one in my sock drawer). Needless to say I did not progress very far with my German lessons. Frohes Weihnachtsfest, leck mich am arsch!