Monday, January 27, 2003

I’m coming back, baby. Coming

I’m coming back, baby.  Coming back strong.  It’s been almost three months since I stopped caring, and a month and half before that since I was physically able to do anything about it.  That’s getting on to half a year.  And, as of today, Clowntime is Over.  It’s not like the change has been obvious - my clothes all fit, and I haven’t gained any weight.  The guys with the weird machine at physical therapy tell me to slow down, that I attack it with a passion and intensity that their other, elderly, atrophied clients just don’t have.  When I have to run fast I still surprise myself, feet flying and knees high.  But I’ve let myself go.  I didn’t want to at first, but I had no choice, shattered as I was.  Before I’d really gotten over that injury it was Halloween and time for my physabbatical - my yearly wade into sweets and fats and my corresponding vacation from bodily fitness efforts.  I’m still eating October candy till Thanksgiving, which is, for me , a time of extraordinary excess… then the holiday parties, latkes and the “shiksa’s xmas” (damn fine blowout), a polak potluck or two thrown in for good measure, and then the Stupor Bowl, which in my case was packed to the brim with carintas and peanuts and refreshing malty beverages… Cold dark mornings, sour stomachs, pressing social schedules - I just agree with myself toward the end of the year every year to take it easy on the exercise until the superbowl is over.  I spare myself a lot of guilt by denying myself an interest in my own health for a few months. 

That hiatus is now over.  From now on I am an iron man. (Gauge to be determined.) Wish me luck, I’m getting off the couch.