Rhinoceros

I feel fat. Lumpy. Slow. Did I just say "Lumpy"?

I was never thin. Or fit. I have a good throwing arm, and am a pretty good quarterback for our annual touch football gathering. I've never been a good runner, and have the world convinced that it's due to my flat feet. I began training late last year for a Bolder Boulder. It's only 10k, so it was the perfect low hanging fruit to chase. I was also getting in shape for my first visit to India in two years and had more than a few pounds I could afford to lose.

Getting into a "fitness routine" is like getting into a new relationship. There's uncertainty "do I have what it takes? Is it worth it?" But it's also a lot of fun. You try new things, and while some of it is painful, you sleep well at night. And the experts recommend protection. Anyhow, once I got into a routine, I lost the pounds rapidly at first, and then hit a plateau. This is normal, I'm told, and a month with a personal trainer meant that I was the thinnest I'd ever been all my life. Of course, I still sported a beer belly, but damn, I had a two pack without sucking my gut in. I could run 6 miles in an hour with no fuss, and damn was I happy with myself.

Cut to the present, and I've worked out precisely 4 times in the last 3 months. And in showing the lady the deep fried delicacies this land has to offer, I've packed on more pounds than a rack of dumbbells. The final nail in the coffin came last week, when I realized I could barely fit in my jeans, and didn't need a belt anymore. The very same belt I needed new holes punched in, to hold my pants up - not more than 3 months ago.

Fuck me, I'm running an hour today.