Before I get to the weekend, I wanted to mention that the world must not be ready for S-LB TV. We didn’t get one single donation in over a week. I understand if you are not ready for the majesticalness of a television channel ran by yours truly, the sheer awesomeness of such an idea probably rendered you paralyzed upon reading it and that is why we didn’t receive one Stanley nickel from anyone. I just hope you can live with yourselves knowing there are starving ants in our kitchen to feed.
Ok, to the weekend. LB had to help host a shower this past weekend in Auburn, leaving Ada and me to fend for ourselves. She was only supposed to be gone Friday night and be back late Saturday afternoon, however, bad weather held her hostage in Auburn an extra night. Ada and I had a few activities scheduled, like a daddy/daughter breakfast date and a church cookout, to help us get through our lonesome weekend.
Friday night started out great. LB left as soon as she could after I got home from work, so from about 5:30 on it was just Little Bit and me. An hour and a half until bath time/bed time. It actually flew by with a few improved games, such as the 11mo old version of tag and a rather extended edition of “Where’s Ada?” Then 7 rolled around and it was bath time. Bath time is always a little taxing when both LB and I are there, so I was a little nervous about going at it alone. But we got through it with little to no tears being shed (by Ada or me). Ada probably wasn’t as clean as when LB does it, but as far as I could tell there was no food in her armpits so I considered it a success. She went down relatively easy after a bottle. By 8, I had popped in the newest Netflix arrival, Shooter. I enjoyed my man movie time, and was in bed by 11.
It was a good thing I got to bed when I did, because Ada was awake and ready to get the day started at 6 the next morning. I won’t lie, the first 30min of Saturday morning started out with Ada enjoying a little Praise Baby and me enjoying a little couch time. After I let the DVD player baby-sit for me a little while, I got up and accepted the challenge of being a single Dad for the day. I would like to say the weekend went by without a hitch, but unfortunately that wasn’t the case.
I knew at some point on Saturday our church was having a cookout and I had signed up to bring hotdog buns. (I know what you are thinking, but LB was going to be out of town and I still wanted to contribute, so hotdog buns it was.) I wasn’t sure what time it began, but thought I’d take a little preemptive action, so I loaded Ada and headed to Wal-mart. I stopped by the Red Box to get the new release, 21, for $1.00 (planning ahead for nap time), grabbed 5 bags of hotdog buns and was home around 10. Ada had been up for 4hrs at this point, so I put her down for the morning nap. Before I started the movie, I began making phone calls to see what time the cookout started. I called a few people, but no one was answering. Turns out they weren’t answering because they were at the cookout! It had started at 10.
I got Ada up from her 10min nap, which she wasn’t too pleased about, got a diaper bag together, grabbed the hotdog buns and was off. Luckily, the cookout was being held only about 10min away from our house. Unluckily, the whole 10min drive, Ada was letting me know how upset she was with me for waking her up. Once we were there, things got better. Ada enjoyed all the people and seeing all the little kids playing. She is such a people person.
One thing I learned from the cookout was hard it is to be going solo with child her age. She is young enough that you can’t just sit her down to go play, but old enough that there’s no way you eat with her in your lap. When the food was ready everyone else was chowing down, but there I sat with only Ada and no plate. I really missed LB at this point. It was pretty much impossible to eat. Eventually, people realized that I was drooling more than Ada and offered to hold her for me so I could grab something to eat. It didn’t last long, I was only about halfway through my burger and Ada decided she didn’t really like our pastor’s wife anymore and wanted me. That’s ok though, after she dug her head into my chest so glad to be back with Dad, I wanted her more than the burger anyway. We made it another 30min and Ada had had enough. The heat and not having a morning nap finally caught up to her, so we took it back to the house.
I put her down at about noon and watched the movie. The movie was over and I still hadn’t heard from Ada. She ended up taking a three hour nap! She woke up as happy as could be. All was right with the world, and then we got the call from LB. I had to break the news to Ada that Mom wasn’t going to make it back until Sunday morning. She didn’t seem to mind. To get through another solo night I made a quick run to Movie Gallery. The rest of the night was fairly uneventful.
Sunday morning came, I was showered, I had Ada dressed and it was time to walk out the door. There was only one problem, my keys were nowhere to be found. I ran all over the house trying to track them down. They were gone. I guessed that I left them on the coffee table and Ada had gotten her little hands on them. If that was the case, there was no telling where they could be now. Then it hit, the jeans I had worn yesterday were in the wash. I ran upstairs and stopped the machine mid-cycle. It was still full of water, but if we were going to make it church, I had no choice. I dove in, bicep deep, fishing for denim. Paydirt. I drug the jeans out, grabbed the keys and we were finally off. Luckily, LB was scheduled for nursery duty, so I was filling in for her there with another couple. I was about 25min late, but since there was already another couple there it wasn’t that big of a deal.
After church I called LB and felt relieved to hear that she was less than an hour away. When I got home, I put Ada down for a nap and anxiously awaited LB’s arrival. Ada and I had made it through our first weekend alone together. There were some bumps along the way, but we made it.
My First Solo Ada Weekend
T.G.I.F
I know when most people here the phrase TGIF, they think the speaker is very happy that it’s the weekend has arrived. Not me. I am automatically taken back to about 18yrs ago, to the family friendly Friday night line-up Thank Goodness It’s Funny! I know, I was a loser (keep in mind I was like 8yrs old) but I still remember getting excited when the theme song to Full House started playing, followed by Step By Step. These 2 shows contained three of my biggest boyhood crushes: Stephanie Tanner, DJ Tanner, and Sam Lambert (in that order.) But, my favorite show in the whole reign of TGIF was Perfect Strangers. Balki always made me laugh and I remember every time I got my hands on an atlas, I tried to find his homeland, the island of Mypos.
Ok, sorry for the childhood flashback. That was not planned, but I decided to go with it. If you haven’t been able to tell by now, I don’t really have an overall theme for today’s post. It’s going to be a hodgepodge, but it’s Friday night and the mood is right, gonna have some fun, show you how it's done, TGIF! (The TGIF theme for those who did not waste their Friday nights on the couch like me.)
First, I’d like to apologize for the very similar back-to-back posts about the beginning rumblings between my new nemesis and me. I had planned on doing the posts one right after the other, but I should have warned you on Wednesday that it was gong to be somewhat of a 2-episode mini-series. I hope I didn’t bore you with the repetition, but even still, I’m guessing we haven’t heard the last of Boss Hornet.
Speaking of nemesis, have you seen this yet? It cracked me up.
I’m pretty sure anyone reading my blog, probably reads LB’s too and she has already made this announcement. We have begun the path to financial freedom riding shotgun with Dave Ramsey. We have a budget already in place, but neither one of us are very detail oriented, so it’s easy to stray every once and a while. It’s really going to help having someone give us step-by-step instructions to building enough wealth to purchase our own television station. I promise you would love it. So, if you want to see the inception of a television channel that rocks like no other and includes the hilariousness of Balki Bartokomous, the awesomeness of Bear Grylls, but with the daintiness of the Gilmore Girls, you should send us money to go towards Baby Step 1 – a $1000 emergency fund. All donations are welcome, small or large, and whatever you give, I will personally match dollar for dollar.
To celebrate us embarking on our path to filthy stinking richness, I’m going to see the new Batman movie this weekend. Dave Ramsey would be proud, I’m going to see it for free. A while back, I bought the first move in the current series for $10 at Wal-Mart and it came with a free voucher to see the second one. So, I’ll be headed into the theater with millions of other fellow American’s this weekend watching Heath Ledger’s last performance. I am pretty excited about catching a movie, especially one of this magnitude, on opening weekend. I usually wait about a month after a movie has come out and leave work early to catch a matinee. For the most part, I’m the only one in the theater when I go to see a move. I’m looking forward to reacting with the crowd for a change.
A few guys from church are planning on getting together Saturday for a little male bonding. The UFC is having an event, so we thought it would be good to get together for some Christian fellowship, eat some pizza, and watch guys superman punch each other in the throats. Good times. Thinking back, the last time I got together with the guys from church it was for a UFC fight night. I’m starting to notice a trend here, but then, even Tyler Durden needs Jesus. The first rule of South Point PCA is you don’t talk about South Point PCA.
Ok, I guess that wraps things up for today. Everyone have a good weekend. If you catch The Dark Night this weekend, let me know what you thought. TGIF.
The Hornet's Minions
When the real estate agent was telling us about our house she left out a few details. Her pitch should have been more along the lines of, “Excellent location, great square footage to dollar ratio, The Hotel Marriott for insects…” Apparently we live the French Quarter of the ant kingdom.
They have been popping up for a couple months now, seemingly coming in by waves. We’ll go a week without seeing anything then wake up one morning and it’s like the dining room floor is the beaches of Normandy. They have me beat in number but I got them in sheer size and modern technology.
I personally think the hornet I mentioned yesterday has been sending them out as scouts. He’s using them to gather intelligence on any defensive schemes I may be conjuring up. I was hopeful that my encounter with the man in charge this past weekend and his complete pansified actions would cause the ants to lose faith in him as a leader and weaken their attack. However, they’ve proven to be much more resilient than I had originally anticipated.
My first line of defense was the Hoover Windtunnel 2 Bagless Upright. It took hundreds out with a single flip of a switch. I thought it had to be a demoralizing moment for them. If it was, they didn’t show it, they just kept coming. I think it may have even become a rallying point for them. This morning as I flicked one ant off of the counter I heard him squeal, “Remember the Hoover!” They keep pouring out like the droid army in Star Wars: Attack of the Clones and I finally realized that the high-powered suction device approach was merely a “band-aid.” I needed to be thinking more long term.
I dove head first into full-fledged chemical warfare. I strategically placed a few Raid Max Ant Baits in the areas they generally commune to hang out, party, and do whatever soldiers enjoy doing when they’re not out in the field. Supposedly, they’ll think the poison is food, take it back to their bunkers, and share the cyanide with their fellow soldiers destroying their camp from the inside out.
With the interior now accounted for, I turned my defenses to the exterior. I scouted the backyard looking for any signs of ant activity. They camouflage well. There were no ant mounds to be found, so I got creative and engineered an ant booby-trap. I poured some poison into a pile and baited it with delicious treats that these scavengers couldn’t possibly pass up. They’ll think they see a fluffy piece of angel food cake that is theirs for the taking, but as they crawl to get it, their feet will melt off. Devious, right? Very Spy vs. Spy.
Now, it’s just a waiting game.
LB wants me to give in and call an exterminator, but I see that as a sign of defeat. I’m not the type to wave the white flag this early in the game. No doubt that flying demon mastermind is tucked away in a dimly lit hideout somewhere, pulling the strings to these ant ambushes trying to lure me outside with my defenses down. Not on my watch, winged spawn of Lucifer, not on my watch. You will be mine.
House Arrest
LB, Ada, and I have been held captive in our house the past several days. I don’t mean ankle bracelets or masked men holding us up. The Andre the Giant of all hornets has been holding us hostage. Or, I think it’s a hornet. I’ve never seen anything like it. It looks like a Chihuahua with wings hovering outside our front door. He’s been hanging around for a couple weeks, but never on a consistent basis. I think he’s just periodically checking in to make sure we know he is still boss.
You can only push a Dad so far when the safety of his family is involved. This past weekend, I finally decided enough was enough. I was tired of taking heat from this winged bully and tired of him thinking he was better than us because he had a exoskeleton. He may have a stinger, but I have flip-flops and I’m not scared to use them. The first chance that came along, I was going to take him out.
It just so happened Sunday morning LB's sister, Ann, saw him chilling on the sidewalk that runs from the driveway to the front porch. I figured now would be my best chance since he was in my terrain, concrete, and out of his comfortable surroundings, the shrubbery. I slowly slipped my rubberized weapon of choice from my foot to my hand and channeled my innermost ninja instincts. I went into stealth mode and slowly crept up behind him. As soon as I got within striking distance, he spun around as if it to say, “You wanna dance, let's dance!”
He didn’t fly away, he stayed there. I tried to circle around to get behind him but he just hopped in circles, not letting me flank him. It probably looked a lot like the famous scene of the Tank Man at Tiananmen Square. We just stood there staring at each other, eye to 1000’s of eyes, like a scene at the OK Corral. I'm pretty sure I even saw tumbleweed roll by in our neighbor’s yard. This was shaping up to be 15 round heavyweight bout, but I didn’t think I had the endurance he did and I had to be at church in 10min to help set up the audio equipment, so I had to act quickly.
I made my move, a quick, powerful, downward strike with my flip-flop, hoping to initiate his second metamorphic act of his short life and turn him into goo on the concrete. I missed. Just as my shot met the ground he dodged it to the right. He was ticked. He began flying in zigzag motions through the air, and I was anticipating having one baseball-type swing at him when he decided to take his kamikaze type dive towards me. If I missed, I knew it was going to be painful.
All of a sudden, he flew away. I guess he decided he didn’t want a piece of this. Can you really blame him? I have been on my total body makeover plan for like a week and half now, no wonder he flew off like a little mamma’s arthropod. Just in case, I will heed to Ross Gellar’s advice from Friends and hone in on my Unagi skills because “Only by achieving true Unagi can you be prepared for any danger that may befall you!” I think I remember from grade school science class that hornets don’t live very long, so I will definitely be looking over my shoulder for the next couple weeks whenever I mow the lawn or go to the mailbox.
After all the action was over, I was glad I had made a stand for my family. I take pride in the fact I lived by the inspirational words of the Click-clack Under Armor guy…”We must protect this house!”
This Morning's Shave: Tedious Task or Calling From Above?
I hate shaving. I think I may have mentioned that on here and am pretty sure that it's in my 100 facts. Many things fuel this deep hatred. I think it began when I wasn’t able to grow facial until sometime around college. This caused me to grow an even deeper respect for that guy who had a mustache in 7th grade. Now, I am scared if I shave what I have, it may never come back. You might think that would be a good thing since I hate shaving. Not the case, it actually leads to cause #2. Every time I do shave, I always get a remark similar to, “You look like you’re about 12yrs old.” I think this bothers me so much because of cause #1. While those are both reason enough to hate the Gillette Company and all they represent, the main reason I hate shaving is I can never make it through a shave without bloodshed. When I get finished, the sink looks like I just sacrificed a cat.
The last time I broke out the Mach 3 was June 13. I only remember the exact date because that was the Friday before Shef and Melissa’s wedding. LB has a mandatory shaving clause that is applicable the night before any event where flip-flops are unacceptable. (Luckily, we go to a very informal church.) So, I made it exactly one month from yesterday without having to scrape a metal blade across the foliage that had grown in sporadic patches across my face.
Lasting a whole month is an impressive feat on my part. Every interval between shaving, LB and I go through the same process. We’ll start with a clean-shaven face. LB is happy that I have finally shaved and I am happy that I won’t have to do it again for a while. Phase 2 begins with LB’s bliss wearing thin and her asking me to shave again. I am able to deflect these initial requests at first by either changing the subject or ignoring them all together. Phase 3, the undergrowth has officially centimetered its way past the stubble stage and the full on LB assault begins. She tosses insults at my face fuzz as if they were word grenades. Eventually I despise these hate crimes against my chin more than the act of shaving itself, so I break down and head to the sacrificial sink.
Which sets the scene of this morning. There I was standing in front of the mirror with a clean-shaven face, ecstatic that I had made it through blood free. I was running late, so I didn’t admire my craftsmanship long and immediately jumped into the shower. It was going to be a good day. Then, all of sudden, the water started to feel…thicker? I looked down and blood was splattering onto the shower floor. As you could imagine there was great concern. I jumped out to discover that I had filleted my upper lip. I never even felt it, I still didn’t feel it. I would have never known if I hadn’t seen the blood.
The crazy thing is, now it’s probably about 5hrs later and I can’t see the incision. It's as if it never happened. Does lip skin have a quicker healing process than normal skin? Am I turning into a superhero that feels no pain and/or heals instantaneously like the cheerleader from Heroes?
I haven’t a guess as to how this slicing of the lip actually happened. I’m not a very hairy person and as far as I know I have never grown hair on my lips. So, why would I even have the razor on my lip? Maybe... it was meant to happen so my powers could be revealed to me? Fortunately, I can rest assured there is definitely no hair on my lip now.
The Beach isn't All Bad
This is somewhat of a follow up to my last post. I think I may have given the wrong impression. I don’t necessarily dislike the beach, per se. I’m just not a fan of what it represents – for the most part, we less V-shaped torsoed types are quite comfortable under the camouflage of our t-shirts and button-ups, but a trip to the beach is a time when we are unveiled and put on display for the world to see. LB always says no one is paying attention to me and I shouldn’t even think about it. She is right; it is very prideful, arrogant, and conceited for me to think everyone is secretly trying to guess the circumference of my mangut. However, we live in a fallen world and thanks to our first parents’ action in Genesis 3, it’s not getting out of my head anytime soon.
For all you slender types who don’t mind strutting your stuff on the sandy shores, think of it this way. Can you just forget about that huge pimple in the middle of your forehead or giant fever blister in the corner your mouth? Of course not, the more you try to forget it, the bigger your imagination makes it. Same thing applies here, it’s just an enlargement right above the waistline instead of on the brow.
Despite all that being said, I don’t actually hate the beach. I always enjoy my time there, my first beach trip not withstanding. I have had many pleasant beach experiences since that fateful trip some 17 years ago and I couldn’t think of a better place to go on a honeymoon. Well, maybe the College Football Hall of Fame, but LB would not be down with that. There are many welcoming aspects the beach offers that always make you forget about that Portuguese Man o’ War lurking in the ocean depths.
As I mentioned yesterday, I am a big fan of putt-putt at the beach. I’m not much of a golf enthusiast, having only played 18 holes my entire life, but I like to consider myself a Putt-Putt Connoisseur. Their courses are usually a lot more elaborate than the ones around home. It seems the further inland you go, the more dulled down the courses become. You play at the beach and you have obstacles like a flaming Trojan horse, in McDonough, you’re putting around bricks and cinder blocks. And when you are lucky enough to get a round in, go with the black ball, it promotes fear in the hearts of your opponents.
Also as mentioned last time, I think the beach can be a breathtaking testimony of God’s glory. However, unfortunately for me it can also be a testimony of His wrath. I’ve already talked about how aquatic life tends to combine its powers against me as if it were the Planeteers and I was the pollution it intended to take down to zero, but that’s not the only way God reigns down his fury on me. Somewhere between my senior year of high school and senior year of college, the pigments in my skin lost their ability to darken. Now, my skin goes straight from pasty colorlessness to bubbling up into a pink ooze. Wait, this is supposed to be why I like the beach…the beach is pretty.
I’ve gone a little overboard with talking about the food at the beach in the last few posts. I am going to have people who maybe don’t know me or haven’t seen me in while picturing me as Star Jones pre-stomach stapling surgery, only as a male with lighter hair…and Caucasian, so I will dial it down a bit for now. But I can’t talk about good things at the beach and not mention boiling your own fresh from the boat shrimp. That may be my favorite part of the whole beach trip. I love knowing when there is a huge pot already cooked just sitting in the fridge waiting on me. Sure you have to work a little bit to get to the good stuff, but that makes it taste that much better.
Despite what I may have insinuated, I don’t think of the beach as Satan’s lair where he prances around forcing people to melt under the sun and pouring sand down their shorts. I enjoy the occasional beach trip every once and a while. At this point in my life, I am just a little bit more fond of activities that allow me to keep my shirt on in public. But that will change soon enough, when my body transformation plan is complete. Then, I will stroll shirtless down the shoreline carefree and flexing my pecs to all I see.
Vacation Spots for the Chubby
Laura Beth loves the beach, maybe more than me. The beach does have a lot to offer her that I do not. Beautiful scenery, sandy shores, cool breezes, amazing seafood, and perfect conditions for her to get a lying out fix. This beach love was instilled in her at a very early age. If I am not mistaken, she has been to the beach every summer of her life, except for the year she was in China. Though, she has more than made up for that by going more than once most of the other summers.
Contrast this with me. I never even saw the ocean until I was 10, when I promptly got stung by a jellyfish and pinched by a crab my first time in salt water. I was jaded and didn’t go back until I was thirteen and even then it was begrudgingly. Don’t get me wrong, I think the beach is one of God’s most beautiful creations; I just like to admire it from afar, kind of like the stars. If I am at the beach, I would rather play $5 unlimited putt-putt than have sand falling out of my bellybutton for weeks after returning home. The laid back atmosphere is right up my alley, but I have never understood the laying out thing. You just lay there in the heat of the day under the hot sun for hours. I also think air conditioning is one of God’s most beautiful creations.
All it takes is one look at me and you will know I am a pretty big fan of the seafood. Crab cakes, shrimp po’ boys, anything from the ocean battered and dipped into a commercial deep fryer…my mouth is watering just thinking about it. Over the years, this has caught up to me and I have deep-fried myself into the walking pudge you see today. Well, I say over the years, but my mom was buying me pants from the Husky section of the department store in 4th grade. This means I have years of experiencing life as a rather portly individual under my oversized belt.
Taking all this into account, the truth is, I would probably enjoy the beach a lot more if it weren’t a requirement to showcase my mangut. When going topless is a requirement to experiencing the fun, the enjoyment level for big boys is unquestionably lower. I remember the first time I was introduced to the concept of shirts and skins in basketball. That was the longest minute and half of my life as I stood with my fingers crossed, waiting for the two captains to decide who each wanted for their respective teams. When it was the shirts captain’s turn I would stand up tall chest bowed. During skin’s turn, I would cower behind the kid next to me. It didn’t work. Captain Skins chose me, causing me to fake an ankle injury before the game even started.
Considering the fact that over 65% of America is overweight, I have a feeling that there are many others experiencing this same problem. As a public service, I thought I would compile a short list of different vacationing ideas for all those horizontally endowed like myself who are in desperate need of some time away and don’t want to be reminded of all those way too many gravy and biscuits over the years.
Skiing – Athletic activity promoting weight loss and everyone wearing those big puffy jackets really helps you blend in.
The mountains – just as scenic as the beach in their own right and there is no need to take your shirt off. Your size could also be mistaken for rugged grizzledness.
Alaskan cruise – Alaska is cold which leans to more clothing, rather than less. I hear that you often see whales, which automatically makes you slimmer by comparison.
Grand Canyon – You spend most of your time hiking down, below the surface of the earth, limiting your visibility from others. Depending on your size, you may want to opt out of taking the donkey, for both your and the donkey’s sake.
Chicago – Embrace your love of food and attend the world’s largest food festival: The Taste of Chicago. With millions in attendance, there is sure to be someone bigger than you.
Now, I have just started working on becoming a chiseled beastly version of the statue David, only with much less hair and a lot more pants. I have a long way to go, so if I am not there by next summer these will be my vacationing ideas to submit to LB. I can guarantee everyone will get shot down. However, there is a chance I can help just one other fellow large soul out there, so for that, I feel satisfied.
Here I Go Again
I have committed to running several times throughout the past few years and it has never lasted for more than a couple weeks. The last time I ran consistently started about 6mo before Laura Beth’s wedding day. I wanted to look decent for my new bride on our honeymoon at Rosemary Beach, FL. That, and I didn’t want PETA picketing her for harboring a beached whale offshore. I was fairly successful during those 6mo and lost about 15-20lbs, turning my full fledged man gut into a miniature version of it’s previous self.
Unfortunately, after Laura Beth’s wedding day, we spent a full week at the beach. I say unfortunately because seafood is one of my weaknesses, the deeper fried the better. By the time we returned to our new 600sq ft apartment in Midtown, Atlanta GA, I pretty much took up the whole living room. (Having such a small place did have its advantages for a big guy, as I could reach into the refrigerator from the couch.) I gained 8lbs that very first week of marriage, but what a tasty week it was.
Since we left the beach, the scale has never looked back and slowly but surely, I have been growing more of me to love. Earlier, I said seafood was a weakness, in reality, all food is my weakness. I love food. Do you remember how Ron Burgundy would read anything put on the teleprompter, which eventually led to his demise? Well, food is my teleprompter. You put it in front of me and I can put it away with the best of them. This has always been the case. I remember when I was younger after I would finish my Happy Meal and had gone outside to burn the head off whatever plastic toy had been provided, I would go back inside to see my mom’s half eaten sandwich and handful of French fries sitting on the table, so, I would treat myself to a post Hamburglar sacrificing snack. Those actions have stuck with me to this day. Whenever LB and I go out to eat, I do the same thing with her food. Even Ada’s if it’s the Gerber strawberry granola (stage 2 or higher, stage 1 is just too mushy.)
All of this food consumption, coupled with no more high school football strength training or intramural sports every day of the week, has led to a rather Biggie sized version of who I should be. I have vowed to make life style changes so many times in the recent past it’s not funny. I’ve even mentioned it here before, all to no avail. Every couple of weeks I will bring it up to LB and she will just roll her eyes, and deservedly so. I’m like the boy who cried wolf, only I’m screaming diet. I don’t blame LB at all for not believing me anymore. Heck, I don’t believe myself.
Hopefully, this time is different. I have devised a 3 step plan instead of just talking about it. I harkened back to phrase my old pastor at FBCO said many times – If you do something 21 days in a row, it will become a habit. I hope you’re right Scoggins. Phase 1: for 21 days in a row, wake up an hour earlier than usual, start a pot of coffee, and sit down for my quiet time. After some QT with God, go for a run. Phase 2: Consciously keep tabs on my portions all through out the day. LB always tells me, my problem is not what I eat, but how much of it I eat. I instituted this plan yesterday morning, but since I am going to be out of town for 4 days, I am postponing the running part until Monday, but then I'm diving in head first. Hopefully, by the end of July, I will be hanging with all the Kenyans. Oh, and Phase 3: setting attainable goals. I have nixed the half marathon that was being talked about, it might as well have been an iron man competition at this point in my life. However, a guy in our community group was talking about our group entering a 10K together, so now I have a goal that I might possibly be able to meet.
The plan sounds great in theory, but I do have a couple things working against me. First the obvious, I hate running. Everyone knows I’d rather be shot with an elephant tranquilizer than run farther than from the couch to the bathroom. I hate running with a fiery passion. Secondly, I am not a morning person. I never have been and doubt that I ever will be. LB will attest to this. Apparently when Ada wakes us up in the middle of the night, I call her names I’m not allowed to repeat on this family friendly blog. I’m not even aware I’m doing it. She always tells me about the next morning after I have had ample time to wake up and I never have any recollection of what she is talking about. (Don’t worry, she doesn’t let me forget.)
So, here I go again, starting the process to make future Scott a healthier version of present day Scott. I told LB to only refer to me as Fatty McPudgerton until I lose some weight, but she won’t cooperate. Too bad, I think that would be the extra motivation I need to get over the hump. I’m sure the future Mr. Pudgerton will check back in here in a few weeks to let you know the status of this new plan.
