I have battled fatassery all my life. I was basically raised a veal; I never had friends in my immediate neighborhood, meaning no outdoorsy physical outlet, and my typical pursuits were reading and drawing. I tried my hand at both soccer and softball, and was less-than-marginally happy with both. In fact, my soccer team never won a game during our first season. This was the modus operandi until about age 14. Then I discovered broads (chicks).
Guess what facilitated getting around Baton Rouge oh-so-clandestinely in a usually-futile attempt to woo girls? MY BIKE. Yessir. And nothing fed my ego than when a comely lass would exclaim, "you rode 4 miles to see me?" Hee hee. So after several years of merely riding around the neighborhood to score Now n' Laters, I realized this 2-wheeled sucker was capable of getting me to the most remote quarters of Louisiana's capitol.
But despite all the riding I did (and still do), I remained a baby gorilla. But my diet was utter shit, and I eventually gave up the bike for a misguided life in debaucherous rock n' roll. I didn't own a car until I was 25, but I was suitably impressed by my stoner friends' Camaros, Trans Ams, and the occasional classic Mustang.
But what was most impressive was that most of these folks' parents would cook up this absurdly-huge meal when I'd visit that would ALMOST satiate our weed-bred rapacity!
Fast-forward 20 years. Me. Now. In Chicago. I ride TONS. Gave up the Rock. And my diet got waylaid by the wonders of ethnic foods I had never tried before living in New Orleans. Couple the indulgence of gastronomic wonders with absolute K.R.A.P. conditions outside (greatly hindering my ability to ride my proverbial ass off), then you arrive at some bold new girth. I've actually had to take up doing a mild circuit of weight-training in my apartment to fend off the bloat; so far, the results are inconclusive.
Shit. Long story short: I gotta GO. Living in these harsh, wintry conditions play havoc on my mind and constitution. These days, it takes every bit of wherewithal to even head outside and take the wee-est O' spins. Grr. I'm still eyeing milder locales for relocation, but so far, jobs have been far and few between. And I desperately need to live somewhere where I can be outside, year-round (without the fear of the weather killing me!), so I can shed some of this excess girth. Jolly Giant, I ain't (or don't want to be!).
Enough. No more negativity. I'm gonna let my veggie chicken nuggets dissolve (so far, wreaking curious havoc on my G.I tract), then it'll be time to recline and read a book about New Orleans. Should be a good night. ;-)