by Craig Carilli’s Fat
What started as one day of healthy food and, I cringe when I remember it, “the jog”, has erupted into a full scale offensive aimed at my very existence. Not in any philosophical sense, like He eats a lot of cheese therefore I am, but in an ugly, uncoordinated exercise attack referred to appropriately as “morning boot camp”.
When the alarm went off at an ungodly hour last Monday, I was thinking we were back in business. Midnight snack here we come. I didn’t care how many goddamn steamed vegetables were still in the fridge, there was also a bottle of Ranch Dressing in there to tart up that convent of veggies. It would not take long for me to see that whatever was about to happen would not be good. The Eyes can’t keep anything secret and spilled the beans first. The Girlfriend was up and dressed in workout attire and let The Ears know it was time for us to get up and into our workout clothes as well. Part of me still wanted to believe there was hope. We’d never gotten into workout clothes and ran to get pancakes before, but we had sure walked awful fast to get them. Then I remembered that The Girlfriend hates pancakes and probably hates me too. Before I was even able to growl a little, we were out the door and into the darkness.
We arrived at a park and were met by a variety of bodies. The lean stomachs were battle hardened and ready for whatever lay ahead. The fat ones terrified liked troops about to storm the beaches of Normandy on D-Day. They were already showing signs of sweat, or fat tears as we call them, from the exertion of getting out of the car. Immediately after being introduced to our instructor or “Drill Sargent” we began doing jumping jacks and then broke into a jog.
I knew there was no silver lining made of whipped cream and turkey gravy in this storm cloud, which gave me an edge over the other people’s fat that might have been thinking were taking part in some sort of wild animal hunt that ended in blood and fire and delicious meat eating. Even with my knowledge, I was crying a lot despite the fact that is was freezing outside. I hadn’t had this many fat tears (or “sweat”, as it’s probably known to you) since the last time we dropped keys on the floor and had to pick them up. The “exercise”, or affront to everything decent and holy in life, lasted for almost an hour. Muscles I didn’t know existed were making their tiny presence known. One of the damn triceps even sent me a haiku.
I was chubbiness
Soft undefined existence
Today I am free
I, like everyone else, knows that the triceps are the literary muscles of the body, but just because you do a couple of push-ups doesn’t make you a master of formulaic verse.
The early morning assault was over and I knew my work was cut out for me. The Girlfriend, The Brain and The Heart all know I’m not at my best early in the morning and they are using everything in their arsenal at the moment against me. Like all wars, there are numerous battles and I am not ready to go quietly into that good night. Shit, The Nose just sent down a granola report.
This isn’t going to be easy.
Comments
Dry those fat tears my friend! Very funny Fat File, can’t wait till the next!
WAHT IS WRONG WITH BEING A FAT?? ! THEIR IS MUCH MORE OFYOU TO LOVE.
Does the fiance know she is still being called the girlfriend?
Love the fat tears. I think The Girlfriend is the mastermind of this war.
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