Thank You, Sir, May I Have Another?

By the way, that's a reference to Animal House, Mom. It's a scene that has fun with the latent homoeroticism inherent in the macho pursuits of presumably homophobic men, though that has nothing to do with the theme of this post. At least I don't think so. I'll see if I can tie it as we go.

I've never lived a healthy lifestyle, at least not for sustained periods. I can pull out a healthy burst for awhile, but it always falls apart again eventually. I have lived as if excess were a virtue, and in my heart of hearts have even believed it to be so, at least in myself. I have taken pride in the fact that I can eat virtually anything, and do; that I can eat large quantities, and of spicy and/or heavy foods, without suffering heartburn or indigestion; that I can drink large quantities and not fall down unconcious; that I have eaten, and drunk, and smoked, and still came back to say, "Thank you, sir, may I have another?" (Huh? Huh? See, I knew it'd fit in there somewhere...)

But now, as I'm getting older, I am in some ways thankful (thank you sir, may I have another?) that my body is providing me with a variety of ailments with which to say enough is enough. My knees creak and grind from all the extra weight that's been pounding down on top of them all these years. My lungs, already scarred from the pneumonia I had when I was a toddler, wheeze and strain from all the smoke I've poured down them, though I haven't smoked now in almost a year and a half. And now, I'm waking up in the wee hours of the night, not with a crying baby, but with heartburn.

An evil, quiet voice whispers "ulcer" and "cancer" in my ear when I'm all alone, and I know I should go to the doctor for a physical, but the stubborn part of me says that it's all just my body telling me exactly what the doctor would say: eat right and exercise. So I'm trying. I'm working on it. Then I can go to the doctor so that he can tell me everything's fine. Going to the doctor when you're unwell is just asking for trouble.

So did the title have anything to do with the post? Not really, I guess.

Anyway, I'm not very good with the diet part, but I'm working on it. I have been maintaining the exercise fairly well, at least for a few weeks. I jogged this morning without the boy for the first time, and I took two minutes off my best time. Was it the Crystal Method driving me to new heights? I haven't been using the iPod while jogging lately, since I like to converse with the boy as we go. The right music does seem to improve the effectiveness of a workout. Or was it the rain giving me new motivation? No, it was because I wasn't pushing a stroller. So the boy's been holding me back! I guess I should say that really the boy's been providing me with the opportunity to burn additional calories.

Hey, is that true? If I work harder for a shorter period of time, do I burn more or less calories than if I work less hard for a longer period of time? Surely if I walk three miles in 56 minutes, I burn fewer calories than if I walk and jog three miles in 43 minutes. But do I burn more, less, or the same, if I walk and jog three miles in 41 minutes? I guess it doesn't matter, because surely pushing the extra weight, even if it's on smoothly turning wheels, must burn more calories.

So help me out, internet. If you see me at a restaurant finishing a large portion of unhealthy food and washing it down with a giant beer, glare at me disapprovingly. That's always helpful. Not sure if it's me? Glare anyway. Fat people need to be public excoriated, just like smokers. It's the only way we'll learn. Thanks!