I don’t know how it got in there – divine providence I’m guessing – but it’s there and letting me know it every step of every mile of every run. I’m FAT right now. Like, grossly obese stuff. I must be a good 4-5 pounds (!!) over my normal race weight. Look away if I repulse you. Don’t laugh as I parade my collection of the Midwest’s finest wind pants before you each day. Yep, I’m a wind pants guy now. Fatties like me do what we must. I pulled the string through them and everything. I’m not even buying the good quality Adidas wind pants. Instead, bulk Walmart models because what the hell.
The thing is I don’t know how it got in there. Sure, I always put on a few pounds over the winter months – I’ve referred to it many times before as my Cheeto Layer – but I know where that fat layer came from. See Cheeto, eat Cheeto. See rum, drink rum. See leftover fry wedged between the garbage can and floor baseboard, eat leftover fry wedged between the garbage can and floor baseboard. Simple fat calorie economics.
But I don’t know where this first trimester bulge came from.
Once February rolls around, I start watching what I eat a bit more. The holidays are over. There’s no ready made excuse. Speedo season approaches. I can’t let a bulge get in the way of my bulge ifyouknowwhatImean. Nothing takes away from the sensual delights of a male in a Speedo more than cottage cheese thighs and a donelop.* As in “my belly just donelopped over my waist”.
I’ve been eating more fruits and vegetables. I’ve been drinking plenty of beer but I’ve cut out (most) of the rum consumption. Cheetos? Not a single baked cheesy delight has passed these lips since the New Year. No, either my system is automatically transposing the mixed vegetables into a bag of Skittles – just out of confusion due to the similar color spectrum – or something else is going on.
I think something else is going on you guys.
I’ve been blessed. It’s an Immaculate Confection bouncing around my belly. Except this one isn’t going to make it to the third trimester. My recent spate of 800’s at the local track will see to that. I don’t know that I want to go against the will of God and the gift of a tasty baked good but there are Earthly races to run. So, my belly is on the shrink. It’s demaculating. I will not be birthing a sugary delight onto the world to save us from the South Beach diet. Was Mary a distance runner? I doubt it or things would never have gotten that far.**
I’m back in shorts; the weekly mileage is going up; the body is reshaping. Sure, my winter Michigan Pale is still in full bloom. Eggshell white mocks my whiteness. But the sun will return around the time the belly leaves. All of this according to prophecy.
Immaculate Confection or not.
Happy Nitmos 4:10.
* Well, maybe gnarly pubic hair jutted from underneath like roots and branches from the Fangorn forest.
** Come to Feet Meet Street for the sarcasm, stay for the blasphemy.
Thanks for asking, yes we have chipped away at the 49 soccer games this Spring. There are only 27 left to go! The colt completed 6 shutouts in 8 games of his last indoor session as Left Defender of the Goal. The filly connected on 18 goals in leading her team to a 6-1-1 record in her last indoor session. She’s on a 4 game hat trick (or better) stretch. Now, outside! In the rain! State Cup games! Junior State Cup games! Premier games! See you on the pitch! I can’t stop talking in exclamation points! Seriously! Help! This is ridiculous! ! !