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“You Look Good…”

I don’t have what you’d call an “exercise regimen” because I am what you’d call “extremely lazy.” Despite my penchant for donuts and pizza, I kept in reasonably good shape (for me) by walking about five miles a day, plus walking up and down no fewer than 480,000 flights of stairs (per day) in various buildings, el stations, bookstores, libraries, etc. I actually did this intentionally: if a building had an elevator and wasn’t more than 10 floors, I’d take the stairs. If it had an escalator and immobile stairs, I’d choose the latter; if it had just an escalator, I’d try my damndest to not stand and let the moving stairs do their work for me. (Sometimes, during rush hour, it’s impossible to walk up an escalator.) There was also a brief period when I lifted weights, under the impression that it would help me play guitar better. (It actually kinda did, taking me from “sloe jam” to “Hammett-style tapsanity,” before I got lazy and went back to “sloe jam.” I like to tell people I’m feeling the music, but really I’m feeling the unwillingness to learn overcomplicated guitar solos.)

Since college, I’ve continued the trend of lazy-man exercise by walking anywhere from three to five miles a day. It’s not as arduous or as fun, nor does it have the additional stair-stepping challenge of the Loop, but at least it’s something. I used to go biking, but for some reason (likely fatness) my ass no longer cooperates with the seat. It creates a numbing sensation on my tender vittles, which isn’t a problem until the pins and needles set in. Just imagine that for a few seconds, you men out there, and you’ll know why I gave up biking (even though it’s the only non-sexual or -competitive-eating physical activity I enjoy).

At this point, the walking routine didn’t really do anything except keep me from gaining weight. I figured as long as I held steady at “slightly overweight,” I’d be cool.

Unfortunately, my lifetime of horrible eating habits and not-quite-lifetime of caffeine over-consumption (plus some bad karma thrown in for good measure) have left my gastrointestinal tract ravaged with an unknown disease that has baffled at least one discompassionate, House-like gastroenterologist. (It’s my belief that House has ruined all medical specialists because it allows them to put a doctor’s natural god complex into overdrive — he’s supposed to be an antihero, not a hero hero.) As a result, I’ve had little recourse but to enjoy a special diet that consists of:

• White rice
• White bread
• Egg whites* (sensing a theme?)
• Steamed vegetables that are green and leafy
• Unseasoned, boneless, fat-less chicken
• Applesauce
• Unsalted pretzels (in moderation)
• Honey graham crackers (also in moderation)

Those fascinated with bowel movements will want to check out what I’ve been producing lately.

It’s actually not as bad as one might think. There’s at least a little room for variety, I haven’t suffered the constant heartburn and lethargy associated with “eating three-fourths of an extra-large pizza by yourself in one sitting,” and I’ve lost about 35 pounds, taking me from “slightly overweight” to “still slightly overweight, but not as much.”

So while out on my morning walk, a plump, middle-aged woman stepped out on her front porch, then walked down to the end of her driveway. (I was walking in the street.) I didn’t pay her much mind, figuring she was just going to her mailbox. Then I realized there was no mailbox at the end of her driveway. Also that she was staring at me.

“You look good,” she said when I was within earshot.

I pointed at myself in confusion, despite nobody else being around.

“Yeah,” she said. “I seen you walking, and before you was real…” I guess she didn’t want to say “fat,” but she did the universal body-language for fat: ballooning her cheeks out and crooking her arms into a wide, semicircular silhouette of a huge body. This was actually kinda more insulting than if she’d just said it, but maybe she didn’t think it was so bad considering she’s way fatter than I’ve ever been. “But now, you look good.”

“Well, uh…thanks,” I said.

“So this is just from walking?”

I didn’t want to go into my digestive problems or the new diet, so I just said, “Yeah.”

“How far?”

“Eh, about three miles,” I said, referring to my regular route. I have alternate routes that spread it out to five or six, depending on if I have a particular destination.

“Wow,” she said, as if this was a truly amazing feat.

“Yeah,” I grunted.

“Well, I just wanted to tell you I been watching you, and it shows.”

Poorly phrased, but I assume/hope she meant “I’ve been watching you walk, and the weight-loss shows.” Otherwise, it takes on a disturbing, restraining-order-worthy connotation.

“Thanks,” I repeated. Then, she crossed the street to a Comcast truck that was, apparently, servicing her house. Or something. I don’t really know why she did that. I just kept walking.

* I mistakenly typed “Egg shites.” That about sums it up.

Posted by Stan on May 14, 2008 11:17 AM  | Permalink | Random Musings | Digg It