Garfield on Fitness

186 lbs. You know, I’ve lived in this weight neighborhood long enough.

There is an old (like, 1970s) Garfield poster where he’s sitting there in all his stripey body-by-lasagne wearing a pair of sneakers and saying, “I’m already in a bad mood. I might as well exercise.”

Welcome to today’s frame of mind. If this was “Office Space,” some annoying, chirpy, chubby broad would pull a cutesy face and announce, “Uh oh, looks like someone has a bad case of the Mondays.” And we would find out if it’s possible to give an atomic wedgie with pantyhose (I’m thinking you really have to focus the motion of the upward yank).

I’m in a rut. I don’t like ruts. I grew up in Rutland, Vermont and could not wait to get the hell out of there; the name was suitable. Still is, apparently.

Okay, to be honest, I’m better off than I was 3 months ago: I’m working and earning money (Hey, it is possible to work and not get paid. Ask a stay at home parent). I have medical insurance again and Dr. Best is doing great things with the right knee (still no Rotating Staircase of Death, but it can handle an easy hour on the elliptical. Emphasis on the “easy” part).

What’s bugging me is that I’ve been bouncing around the same weight for nearly 2 months. When God decided to wipe out the Earth with the Great Flood, it didn’t take Him this long to get the job done. Christ spent 40 days in the desert before beginning His ministry (what is it with the Bible and the obsession with the number 40? 40 days and 40 nights of rain? 40 days fasting in the desert? Wandering in the desert for 40 years? Should this be a given as a lottery number?). Again, it’s taking me longer to get back on the weight loss track. To think that the Almighty took His time and got bigger things done sooner is not a comforting thought. My weight to lose is of Biblical proportions? Yikes.

The self-discipline that has kept me out of the sugar and starch has faltered, much in the same way the Red Sox have faltered lately, although I don’t believe the two situations are linked (There is the legend of the Fisher King out of the Arthurian legends: as the king fell ill and suffered, so did his lands. You see this in the 1982 flick “Excalibur.” You also get to see Helen Mirren buck naked and a knight getting his freak on in full armor. Some mental images etch pretty deeply on one view). I do not think my health and that of Boston’s playoff hopes have some metaphysical link; as my pounds whittle down, so does the magic number. Yeah, no. One has nothing to do with the other.

I got a free issue of “Self” magazine and it was pretty much cover to cover how and why you should lose weight NOW. “The #1 Way to Erase 8 Pounds”, it screams next to Jennifer Hudson’s head (Since this IS a “women’s” magazine cover, the correct answer is “airbrushing.”). Butt blasting exercises, cute workout clothes, EAT EGG WHITES (that ain’t happening in this house).

My life must suck. Actually, today’s frame of mind, it kind of does, but not because I don’t have cute workout clothes.

As soon as I finished my workload today (and, thank you, Mortgage Gods, for giving me relatively easy loans today). I grabbed myself by the scruff of the neck and hauled off to the gym.

And burned 1200 calories. Yeah. An hour of weight training and an hour on the elliptical adds up.

There was a mild endorphin rush afterwards that lifted my mood somewhat. The Sox just beat the crap out of the Orioles within the past hour (after I had done my workout. Again, not necessarily linked, but…) and that lifted my mood a bit. So, we’ll see what the scale says in the morning.