Friday, February 17, 2006

Pellegrino Clears the Mind -- Of All Thought

Last summer, I came up with an absurd plan to do four hours of cardio a week, on top of my normal weights and climbing routine, in order to lose the lovable little beer roll that I have dilligently spent the last 15 years or so accumulating around my midsection. I was inspired by my Greek god of an ex boyfriend who at one point put off medical school to climb professionally and who now, despite working three million hours a week as an ER resident, somehow still finds time to maintain the workout schedule of an Olympic athlete. One look at those abs would be enough for you to tether yourself to a treadmill, too.

Six or so months later, my squishy little belly roll is still with me, although I did mostly permanently lose four pounds of flab from elsewhere. Meanwhile, my cardio fitness is such that I could hike 27 fourteeners in a row in the thin air of Colorado and not have to carry along a lunch sack in which to hyperventilate. I'm ready for Everest, no-oxygen style.

So I decided, with regards to my lovable roll, it must be the beer that's the problem. Figuring that my consumption of, oh, six beers or so a night, most nights of the week, was offsetting all that annoying treadmill time, I decided to try an experiment and switch to Pellegrino.

After one week on the 'Grino, I don't know that I feel any less bloaty, although I have found myself feeling slightly happier, less tired and somewhat more verbally articulate. Sometimes I even speak in whole sentences instead of grunting and pointing, which came in handy today during a job interview.

However, it has left me devoid of all thoughts of the bitchy variety which are normally vented here.

Luckily for all of my 7 regular readers, I have a happy hour tonight followed by a champagne celebration for a friend's new job, so I should be on an express train back to Bitchyville by tomorrow.

And, since reading about other people's diet and exercise habits is boring, unless you are a subscriber to Self magazine, I thought I'd point you here to a story about one man's worst sex ever. I went to the Worst.Sex.Ever show last year, and had a marvelous time.

This year it was sold out, so I was happy to get a little taste of that bad, bad lovin' via the Interweb. Enjoy.

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