Monday, March 23, 2009

About to wage another war on fat


I am staring at the bathroom scale. 235 pounds! The cooking oil rich kingdom of Carbo Calorie-Azad has struck again -- with insidious subtlety.

Once again, my 200 pound body has been invaded and occupied by the additional, unwanted 35 enemy pounds. Not just any 35 pounds. These are the exact same 35 pounds that I’ve driven from my borders over and over since I turned 40. It’s like the Middle East except is my Middle. How do these 35 enemy combatant pounds keep infiltrating my defense systems.

My intelligence tells me that they come in three strategic waves.



WAVE ONE
Pounds 201-207 are the special ops advance scouts. Platoons 201 and 202 slip in under cover of a seemingly innocuous second helping of cereal or occasional purchase of a jar of mixed nuts. Stealth Squads 203, 204, and 205 dress in the uniforms of “nutrition bars,” arriving at my border with identification papers that show what appears to be a reasonably low number of trans-fats, calories, etc. My border guards, having been confused by these ingredients labels, are now easy pickings for 206 and 207 who begin smuggling in bigger weapons in cartons of ice cream that they camouflage with the words “Light” and “Reduced Calories”.

By then my border defenses are down, their tongues lolling on their sweet tooths.

It would still be fairly easy for my Central Command to drive the advance scouts out but my brain is not yet aware of the threat. My clothes still fit. The radar installations of my eyes can’t yet detect the tiny expansions around my chin, neck, waist, where the enemy digs in and prepares to call in advance artillery. I look in the mirror. I still look good. Preening and self-righteous, I don’t notice my security guard quietly slipping out the service entrance.

WAVE TWO
Pounds 208-220 are the heavy artillery and air strikes called in to soften me up. Even my preening Central Command mind can’t fail to miss them. The first barrage is an unexpected Friday night decision to treat myself to pizza just before bedtime. The next morning, bloated, I hold a council of war. But Artillery Pounds are strategic. Their guns go silent for a few days, while the nutrition bars continue chipping away, even risking an occasional Baby Ruth or scattering of M&M’s. My guard down again, I suffer another incoming bombardment at an All You Can Eat Seafood buffet.

By now, I’m clearly aware that the war machine of dictator Calorie-Azad is on the move. My pants still fit but they are tight. Getting ready for work, I have to pick my dress shirts more carefully since some of them begin to show a little stretching around the third and forth buttons.

My Central Command Brain knows the threat but there is now debate and discord among the junior officers of Willpower Battalion. Maybe we can negotiate a truce. Instead of going to war against Pounds 201-216 which have already crossed the border, we can let them have the territory they have gained as long as they don’t take any more. After all, the bulge in my dress shirts can be hidden by my ties, even though buttoning the top collar button is a little challenging.

Prime Minister Carbo Calorie-Azad quickly agrees. I can stay at 220 pounds and keep my wardrobe, uncomfortable as it is. In return, he will agree to feed me no more than one bowl of ice cream a night, two nutrition bars and one candy bar a day, and no more than two – maybe three – pizza’s a week.

WAVE THREE
Pounds 220-233 are the ground forces, tanks and armored personnel carriers that pour across the border in waves. They take advantage of the supply lines from grocery stores that have been set up without me knowing it. Too late, Central Command realizes that the coup has taken place again and my defending army has thrown down its weapons and sworn allegiance to the other side.

I try to dress for work and I can’t button my collar at all and my tie is askew, not to mention that it has stains on it from pizza sauce. I only have two pairs of dress pants that I even attempt to put on, the rest are pushed back in the closet. Looking like a slob, I go to the kitchen, open the pantry and am buried by an avalanche of cookies and doughnuts.



I turn around and there stands Pound 234, the infamous Little Debbie. She sits in my very oval office and grins derisively at me.

Vowing death before surrender, I race as fast as my thighs, which now rub against each other, will allow, down to the barracks where the few remaining troops of Willpower Battalion still swear allegiance to me. “No more all-volunteer army,” I announce. “We have to reinstitute the draft! But first we will do sit-ups!”

We all groan and lie down to begin yet another war to liberate my Middle. It will be a long, hard conflict but we know we will win in the end. The gods of exercise and diet are on our side!

And next time we will try and have border guards who are more vigilante about nutrition bars.

23 comments:

  1. Good morning to you from a good evening over here.
    I thought you weren't meant to be here???
    Weren't you taking time off to get your life in order - priorities straight - all that boring moral stuff....

    Well I am glad you snuck back to write this over the limit story...
    And I'm watching what you get out of the pantry now for breakfast. It had better be healthy, low sugar, low fat....
    The Allies forces are coming in to assist...

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  2. Ahhh, so that's whats happened...they've all come over to my place....grrrrr

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  3. All I can say is.. Is this what you call taking a break! Excellent post with war analogies. I think you need to try some tactical manoevres and you definitely need a strong ally who will ban all addictive yummy food from the house except in teeny tiny portions. Good luck. Rooting for you and watching the action through our long distance field glasses.

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  4. Yes, I'm hooked. On blogs as well as food...announce that I'm taking a break and my eyes pop open at 4:00 am and my brain screams: "BLOGSPOT!!!" Breakfast will not be the problem. The candy machine at work will be the problem.

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  5. B&B...Here is a philosphy used when my kids were in grade school learning about drugs: JUST SAY NO!
    Life can be simple (if food wasn't so tempting!)
    ~AM

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  6. Still there actually. If not gone tomorrow I'm going to the quack.xx

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  7. You must have loved Patty's recent post about the Smith Island cake!

    I know this battle well.

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  8. Godd morning B&B,

    Very good military analogy about over 40 weight gain. So what strategic initiatives will you begin to launch?

    U

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  9. Personally I treat carbs and fat like this, one is poison the other is the enemy. The poison one works best. I repeat it over and over - Sugar is poison. Which we all know that it is. And its exercise that is the real secret. To me that is critical. Maybe boot camp, do you think? I think we all need to step away from the computer and walk around the block. My ass has grown since I have been blogging. You may not be getting enough sleep either if you are typing away at 4am......

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  10. Blogging is fat's ally. Smaller meals and shorter posts will help. I hope you get to the negotiating table soon.

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  11. Okay, I think that's a lot of fat, to put it bluntly LOL. I'm sure if you just exercise.. okay whatever, it's still really hard to get that fat off! It's hard to get one pound off!

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  12. Actually the real enemy is blogging. I dropped in here from "The Smitten Image" where she and her cohorts proceeded to discuss the various enhancements to grits for breakfast. Butter, cheese, or maple syrup? Now, I am going to go eat the two remaining corn muffins in the kitchen with a little butter and honey and thank you for such a creative post.

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  13. 234 the infamous Little Debbie.
    HaaaaaaaaaaaHaaaaaaaaaaaaaHaaaaaaaaaaaa.
    I mut admit I've had pizza before bedtime that then called to me the next morning as well. My lips were like craters from the salt.
    I second helping of cereal? That really is sneaky and innocent.
    Luckily, I do hate anything labeled All You Can Eat, which usu amounts to: This Is All Crap.

    Good luck on your mission. I shall be rooting for you. ~Mary

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  14. This was absolutely hilarious. I hear you though, and I agree with other comments, blogging adds pounds. It is so easy to eat a nutrition bar at the keyboard!

    LOL - good luck!

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  15. Embargo - you need the navy offshore.
    Blogging is not the cause of your problem.... I've been at it 3 years and haven't added a Kilo... haven't lost any mind you but haven't gained. I have to have some sugar - I love Serenata de Amor - a chocolate / peanut butter flavored filling bombom - I am allowed one a day - when Camillo travels he leaves me one a day on the shelf if I eat all the first day tough luck... stay away from nuitrition bars/diet bars etc. they are deadly with empty calories.... eat regular food.

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  16. I forgot
    I love you photo in the heading - you have a twinkle in the eye that probably keeps you in trouble.

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  17. I would take some of those pounds from you but too many people are offering to donate theirs to me already.

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  18. Why don't you just let me send you a Smith Island cake and you can go for 300, a nice "round" number.

    The last photo is a killer.

    Great post, as usual. Knew you could not stay away.

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  19. Thank God I was going to miss you so badly.

    I have also been invaded ......I have met the enemy and it is me...

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  20. Do you know one of the many, may reasone that I love you B&B (and yes I know....LOVE is strong language)?
    Because you use twenty dollar words like insidious!! That and you're pretty hot. I know you're on a lil diet but can I still send Bagman some of my special banana pudding? We've got a thing going on behind your back. Don't tell him I told you okay?

    Steady On
    Reggie Girl

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  21. I hate those pounds. They keep invading my space as well. Send reinforcements.

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  22. Just checking in on you. Just because it is spring, and you have spring fever, it does not mean you can abandon your cold weather friends. Let us catch up. Bad boys for making us go cold turkey!

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  23. Want you to know that it just gets worse. As you get older, they start to breed. There they are, inside your pristine body doing horribly nasty hardcore things and reproducing like mad. Once you reach retirement age. So you don't have to eat anything, you just grow. Let me tell you about it, how well I know.

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