Don’t eat peanut butter at people

by cranberrystirling

peanut butter Yesterday I managed to consume 3040 calories. It was a better day. Finishing the night with two gin martini’s a couple of darts and finding myself at a loss using the My Fitness Pal application to find my liquid nitrogen Tira-miss-you ice-cream.

What I discovered from Monday was after eating my salad for lunch drenched in olive oil (good for the heart), balsamic glaze (good for the glaze), and sesame oil (good for international relationships), was I’d left myself hungry. I went into food rage, searching for whatever resource available. All I had at hand was peanut butter. Lunch shifted to provocative gestures between me, the spoon and the  licking of the peanut butter at the polite Filipino girl in the office. I got awkward and did what anyone does and ask “is this gross” as an extension of an olive branch to normalise my behaviour. Her words said its fine but the body language was like when you try and force a guinea pig to love the shit out of your face as a child. Fear, discussed and the urge to move on quickly.

Failing to satisfy myself with only peanut butter from the 1.4kg jar, I slinked across the road for a small mc cheeseburger meal where I sat by myself away from the eyes of my colleagues.

Following the days caloric food intake I took myself to the pool to ‘smash out some laps’ (8 laps completed) realising it’s been a year of consistently weight lifting at the gym and not having the body I had expected – I have decided to move to cardio. The disturbing thing about sharing a public pool is the level of mental control you need to block out that you are actually swimming in a pool of mainly water, sweat, shit, pubic hair, piss, blood, scabs and mystery flavour. I had made it past this mental obstacle by assuring myself that filters and chemicals are amazing only to have my attention diverted by a question in my mind, ”do middle aged ball bellied men look fit when wet in speedos?” It is easy to assume anyone with that much body confidence to jam their junk into a cock jock must have dedication and stamina. They have age on their side which is a trophy of time to apply themselves to consistency in the pool. Is this the sign of an athlete? Or is a wet body like a car commercial where they can make an affordable Asian import look sporty?

Irrespective of these sporty, wet Asian affordable middle age men I gave it my best and discovered myself dizzy from hyperventilating then having to avoid quick balancing manoeuvres out of the pool. That would never happen in a car commercial.

Exercise is a challenge and many other bloggers speak about pain, commitment and determination. I feel the challenges lie in what floats by in the swimming pools of our minds when we are wearing nothing but budgie smugglers and what gets stuck. Do you have what it takes to find satisfaction in your physical abilities? Or are you seeking peanut butter or something else and is it really worth looking for?