A few days ago I foolishly blogged about having made it through the winter without gaining any weight. Guess I counted my chickens before the eggs hatched. Since then, out of nowhere seven pounds just appeared on my person.
Apparently I'm retaining carbs. I blame all the lunches I had to attend with candidates we're interviewing for several different positions. I know it's true because I've done the math: Seven lunches = seven pounds. I'm sure of it.
My birthday was not a factor. Everyone knows sweets given as gifts don't have any calories. This is SCIENCE and you can't argue with science. Because they were gifts the birthday cake, half gallon of ice cream, and several boxes of girl scout cookies I've eaten over the last couple of days did not contribute to the weight gain. To suggest otherwise would be unbirthday-like.
Eating less would make a difference. It would help if I exercised. Wanting to exercise would be even more helpful.
I need a really good personal trainer--someone who can move mountains. It has to be a guy, and he has to be really cute. A glimpse of his washboard abs or perky pecs might be just the carrot to get this mountain moving. Call it sick if you want...desperate times call for desperate measures.
Besides being hot he's going to need to be smart, determined, and committed to see this through to the end. The commitment part is especially important. As I understand it, one of us has to have it...and I sure don't.
He's going to need to be very creative too. I've spent most the last thirty years trying not to sweat. Breaking this well-established habit is going to take some serious motivational skills.
I shouldn't need any more motivation. My 35th class reunion is coming up in October. I looked great at the last reunion. I need to get on the stick. Can't have people wondering what the hell happened to...
The Crotchety Old Man
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