The Acid Test

I've always dreaded the injury I now have.  I have seen athletes go down with achilles tears and thought it would be hell to have an injury where one could not exercise for an extended period of time.  Since the summer of 1975 I have religiously exercised 5-7 times a week. Most of that time I was a runner. Occasionally when I had relatively minor foot injuries I would swim. Tennis and racketball were very regular activities in my late forties and fifties. Then the past few years I have spent 45 minutes to an hour and a half on the elliptical machine.   I played racquet sports for fun, ran and did the elliptical for the catharsis the activities gave me as well as the caloric expenditure which allowed me to consume calories without expanding my girth.

Since St. Patty's Day I have not been expending many calories.  I am now in week five of wearing a boot, and there will be a week six.  Then two or three more !@#$%&!@ months before I can resume full activity.  Not being able to exercise not only keeps the tensions within, but my innards seem to be expanding. I am not a happy camper.

Of course I could be more disciplined and cut down on what I consume. I decided that today I would have to start doing this.

And today happened to provide the acid test.

I arrived at work for a three hour meeting.  To nourish we conveners someone went to Paneras and brought in an assortment of pastries that were to kill for. Nothing plain in the box.  All sorts of sweets the kinds which I do not typically reject. I made it through the meeting eating just the pineapple chunks that were going begging because everyone else glommed on the pastries.  One credit for me.

Then at noon to celebrate the end of classes our office sponsored a pizza party for the students who are either completing final projects or preparing for exams which begin tomorrow.  At the last minute the decision was made to invite additional members of the community to enjoy our largesse.  The problem was that these additional invitees did not attend.  I am not exaggerating when I write that there were thirty pizzas left over.  One well meaning assistant asked if I wanted to take a pizza home. When I returned to my office there was a pizza sitting on a table.  I had a slice.  It was a veggie pizza. Still, no credit.

In late afternoon we had our college honors presentations. God forbid we should have an event without food. There, to nourish the attendees, there were an assortment of cookies and brownies plus lemonade.  I did not succumb. One credit for me.

Once in 1971 I went on a diet and decided to go to a tavern.  I requested a beer and figured it would be good will power to just sit and stare at it for an hour.  I did this and felt good about myself and subsequently had a successful fortnight of dieting.

The old will power is not what it once was.

Oscar the Grouch has nothing on me.