Unequal measures

Sucks lemons doesn't begin to cover it.

How can I toil on the treadmill and exercise bike, lift weights and do ab exercises and still weigh the same as my deep freeze?

There is some perverted math going on here where every molecule of food ingested equals the equivalent caloric count required to launch the space shuttle - I'm sure of it - I just can't prove it to people who don't have to sweat off any pounds or struggle with body image issues while hoping that a piece of celery makes up for something somewhere at some time.

Underneath my flab, my abs are tight. Of this I am convinced. But the Michelin inner tube surrounding my gut looking oh so much like a deployed airbag is hiding my fabulous physique.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it!

Oh, shut up! Your laughter is unbecoming!

The reality is that work, by the very nature of it, is indeed a FOUR LETTER WORD! Yes, I find joy in the work that keeps me one step from the operating table for a triple bypass... the fact that I am not dead is a good thing, right?

But the time factor is the struggle for me.

Those scientists who are trying to make green beans that glow in the dark would be better served to figure out how to take the essence of who we have become and go back in time to pick up the bodies we left behind that still functioned at optimal speed and health.

We waste millions to research ways to kill roaches (HELLOOOOOO - we will ALWAYS have them!) and the money could be much better applied in real time experimentation in how to wide-beam our flab into deep space.

SPLAT! Take that alien hoards!

Can you imagine the lack of interest if they thought our only export was flab? How less likely they would be to desire our planet... unless they have some sci-fi special effects way to put it into a renewable resource to power the world!

Then we who carry a few (thousand) more pounds than we need would be in demand for our resources! We could band together in coops and bargain away our precious resources to 'help all mankind'!

But I digress.

After I ride the bike, I truly feel like everyone needs to lay down and take a nap. However, I have been told that this maneuver is actually counterproductive. Fun suckers!

Over the past few days with holiday and Holy Day food choices upon me, I confess to not having made many very wise decisions. No one shoved that spoonful of dressing and gravy INTO my mouth, but by the same token, I wasn't exactly shoving it AWAY from me either.

So now the work phase begins and the under construction signs come out to announce to me and the world that the soul's temple is taking in serious renovations and reconstruction.

No knives will be employed, but instead, sweat pants, tennis shoes, running shorts (although running is out of the question now with the damage my ankle has endured), and a new pair of those cushion footed sox that have the colored heels and toes. Call it a weakness...

With the advent of the school semester, I'll have more training time out of doors since Jared will be safely in the care of his wonderful classroom teachers and aides. So that means my days will return to outdoor assassination schedules with the resident furbag. She will be so happy.

I hope I will be. She has missed our outdoor exertions and getting her onto the treadmill lately has been an exercise in futility and sweat as we wrestle for time and position.

Does futile sweat count in the weight loss process? Again, I digress...

In a way, I'm looking forward to it, because it means that I am working toward a goal that I CAN achieve. In another way, I am not looking forward to it because I know it means that once again, I am starting from ground zero after having rehabbed my ankle from the latest battleground casualty.

If anyone can figure out the exact equation to apply to the process so that results come faster, please let me know. In the meantime, I'll be the sweaty gal in the mismatched exercise clothing trying to find the fountain of youth for a drink.