I gently stepped on to the scale, as if acting like I was light as a cloud would somehow affect the outcome of this.
The scale at the gym is one of those that doctors have, with the movable units you can tinker with until the bar is perfectly balanced and you know exactly what your weight is.
I slid the metal weights to where my weight had been last week. Nothing. The bar didn’t even bob up and down, it just sat. I pushed the single-pound weight over one. Still nothing. One more. Nope. Another. Nothing. And another. It wobbled uncertainly but still leaned down. I inched it over one more pound. Now the bar bobbed up and slowly found its balance.
Shit. Five whole freakin’ pounds? I gained five pounds in ONE weekend? Dammit. How is that even possible?
“Oh I’ll tell you how it’s possible,” answered the voice in my head, the skinny person that wanted to jump out of this now five-pounds-heavier body. “That chocolate cream pie, pumpkin pie, more chocolate cream pie, hunk of apple pie, apricot kiffles, and raspberry ones, and chocolate ones, a second helping of pumpkin pie, enough egg nog to fill an Olympic-sized swimming pool…”
“Alright, alright, I get it,” I cut myself off. So, who cares? Big deal. So what if I put on a few pounds because of Thanksgiving weekend, the official kick-off to a month of holiday binging? Nothing a few hours at the gym won’t burn off, right?
I hope so anyway. Because now that the holiday season is in full swing there isn’t a holiday treat I’ll say no to. Gingerbread houses, candy canes, panettone. You offer, I’m accepting.
A certain someone (we’ll call him Babbo Natale) gave me a camera for my birthday so now I’m going to make a concerted effort to not just eat like a fatty, but write like one too. That’s all for now though. I have a massive workout regimen for 2010 to plan out…
And while we’re on the topic, read this: Festiveness, Stacked Up Southern Style