**Eff Em Friday is Back! See the next post!**
If you’ve been reading my randomness or following me on twitter, then you know that I ran track in college. Let it be known that I wasn’t exceptionally fast. I did, however, have legs like ox. No Oregon Trail. And with lower half like ox, the long jump was a feasible event for a thick-legged and big-footed beast. I guess this is the point where I drop in a witty reference to my baby-maker…Done.
**Insert smooth, but certainly no Kappa style, transition**
You’re probably wondering what track has to do with the title of this post. Let’s just say I was going through some old pics of myself and came across one from just after college when my body fat was at an all-time low. So imagine how I felt looking at this pic knowing that it’s currently at an all-time high. It was like a before and after shot…in reverse. I stood up to see what my stomach would do in response to the old pic and it got visibly discouraged. Looked down at the floor and everything. Then I did crunches and push-ups. It cried. Tears coming out of the belly button is somewhere between strange and pussyfoot. I say pussyfoot for the face that you made when you read it.
I ended up having a nightmare. It was a dream I’d joked about but never expected to happen to me. In this dream, I was in a public restroom exercising my right to sink the cheerios. Don’t ask me why there were cheerios in the toilet. My imagination does sh*t that not even I can comprehend in a sober and lucid state. Anyway, I was ahh’ing and then I looked down. I couldn’t see my d*ck. It was in my hand, but it wasn’t visible. My stomach was blocking the view. I tried to suck it — my stomach — in, but nothing happened. I turned around and saw a camera crew from A&E and the producer told me they were filming for the new season of Heavy.
Aight, the part with A&E is definitely a lie. Believe everything else including the cheerios. Pretty sure I dreamed about the cheerios because I saw a friend at work eating ‘em at her desk. She’s probably reading this and won’t say good morning because I freaked her out. I make things awkward sometimes. It keeps life spicy.
When I woke up from the dream, the first thing I did was make sure I hadn’t soiled my sheets. Once I realized they were dryer than unhappy cooch, I looked at my gut to see if it really was as fat as it had seemed in my dream. It wasn’t. I lifted my hands to the sky and thanked the bearded deity that allows me to exist for not molding me into a fat f*ck.
The greater point is that I need to go to the gym. All this fried chicken, cheesesteak, and beer-battered diabetes has to be limited. I say limited because I know that I won’t stop eatin’ comfort foods completely. Summer is supposed to be a time for fun and sexy pics that can go on Facebook. I don’t wanna have to wear a t-shirt in the pool with sunglasses on and a peace sign in the air because I let myself go. Let this post be the proclamation that somewhere in the next month, I’ll go to the gym. And once I do go, my body will transform into something that would look acceptable in spandex or Under Armour.
I mean hey, gotta speak it into existence. Sometimes when pastors are preaching hard it’s because they’re preaching to themselves.
Not fat. Not skinny. So please don’t mind the fact that my name is,