Heavy Duty

As I'm sitting here at about 11:15 p.m. on a Friday night, several things are shooting through my brain. The first thought is that I haven't kept up with this blog thing very well. Much like many plants in my home, I'm feeling like this blog thing is withering on the vine, as I haven't watered or fed it with new material or stupid stuff to talk about to bring it back to it's resplendent green, healthy hue that will make it look fresh and new again.

I don't know what prompted me to think about it, but, the fact of the matter is: I miss french fries.

You see, my friends, since the middle of January I have been participating in what I'd like to think could be called an experiment...a biological one. Early in the year this year at work, a couple of the people I work with thought it would be a great idea if we, as a group, would participate in a contest to be "the biggest losers." Normally, I don't consider myself remotely close to being a loser by any means, but in this case I thought it wouldn't be a bad idea to try. After all, who doesn't (except if you happen to be Callista Flockhart, J.J. Walker, or a concentration camp survivor) want to lose a few pounds.

I was a little hesitant to start.

I have to admit: I LOVE french fries. No matter how greasy, salty, hot or cold, I love them. And this contest that I was about to commit to would force me to forgo this vice. Then after stepping back (and having been forced to step on a scale at the doctor's office), I realized that perhaps it would be a good idea to start my Lenten fast early, and give up my french fries. I went ahead with participating on this "loser" team,reluctantly, and begrudgingly.

So I committed to this scientific experiment, even though I didn't know how I would ever live without my french fries.....mmmm...plain, a hint of salt, crispy and greasy.

Hurdle number one came when I was informed that one of my co-workers would have to weigh me. Now, anyone that knows me well knows that I am and have always been HUGELY self conscious about my weight, even when I weighed what seemed to be 3 1/2 pounds in high school and had all my hair. All morning long I stewed about it. I probably should have had three extra shirts that day, because I was sweating like Mike Tyson in a spelling be by the time I had to be weighed. Several people offered to do the official weighing and recording, NONE of whom were even remotely a viable option. So after settling for the one person we all could feel comfortable having do this horrid task, we (7 of the 9 people in my office who are participating)proceeded to have the grand "weigh in."

Then...it was my turn. I felt like Sean Penn in "Dead Man Walking."

Tasting the iron-like biley taste in my mouth, I was afraid I was going to lose whatever was in my stomach (which probably would only have been a pot of coffee)and not be anywhere NEAR being somewhere where I wouldn't make a scene....and a mess.

Let's just say that from the initial "weigh in" (and this term cracks me up, since all I could think about was me being entered into a boxing contest, only to be the horrificly unprepared super mega ginormous heavyweight entering the ring with King Kong, knowing that inevitably I'd be getting my ass kicked in a matter of 3 nanoseconds), it somewhat relieved my need (and obsessive craving) for french fries.

I have no idea where this whole process will end up, but I'm liking the fact that things are working. Perhaps I should take peoples' advice and try skydiving to cure my fear of heights....then again, I think I'll pass on that. After all, I don't need to be changing EVERYTHING.