Relapse

I have to type fast, don't even have time for photos or color font. I won't tell you what I'm doing that makes speed of the essence but suffice it to say I've got to keep moving.

(Can I just say it sucks to be Brett Favre today?)

I have a confession to make.

I've relapsed.

No, no--not THAT kind of relapse.

I've had a Jillian relapse.

I am powerless, my life has become unmanageable.

Yesterday, while watching football on TV at home with the ever-recovering, uterus-less wife, I realized that my knee was really bothering me. This gave me pause as it's been awhile since I've had that complaint. I haven't seen my Beloved Lady Chiropractor over the past few weeks as she was weaning me off frequency of appointments. I wasn't able to say why it hurt as I've been a lazy non-exercising slug and haven't done anything very athletic--a few miles with Leslie Sansone here and there, but I've been too busy stuffing my face while waiting on the wife to be doing serious exercise. Heck, I haven't even been walking the dogs or even shoveling.

Sooooooo.....since my knee already hurt......and, since I can't get any of my pants on anymore (there was a significant moment of trauma over the weekend when I tried to put some black pants on for a funeral and I couldn't even button them)...........I figured it couldn't hurt.....

......it wouldn't be THAT bad.......

......it would be just this one time.........

I went to the basement.........

.....pulled out the.....GASP!........Jillian Michaels 30 day shred DVD......

.....put it in the DVD player......

.....and I relapsed.

I threw myself into that 20 minute workout like an alcoholic going on a beer bong bender.

I couldn't help it. I couldn't stop myself. It was like a little slice of fatty patty heaven.

Oh Jillian, you tart! Now I've done it!!! It doesn't matter whether or not my knee hurts. It only matters that I have come back to you. What does it matter? I can't get my pants on--so what if you make my butt bigger? What if I get thicker? This middle aged thing isn't doing anything for me, anyways. I'm already saving money for new pants--why not go out with a bang? You're like a bad penny, you bully--go ahead, keep coming back to me!

And, now it begins. Tonight, I did your work out AGAIN. See? I AM powerless. I am addicted. Twenty minutes of you beats 60 minutes of Leslie. (No offense, Leslie--it's about availability of time, not about the actual quality of your walks--I love you!) I've gone back to my evil ways, you and that angel tattoo. I'm giving you thirty days to shred away. I'll give you that time and my butt, but after that....

....after that, if I don't see ginormous results (and I'm not talking about butt here), I'm breaking up with you.

Again.

This time for good.

Maybe.