What makes it so disheartening is that over the Thanksgiving break, I worked out like a dog. Specifically, I rolled around on the front lawn, then spent the rest of the day lying on the floor in front of the sofa. Before going to bed, I walked around in a circle three times.
And yet, in spite of this extra activity, there are four more pounds of Man Martin than there were on the planet just a few short days ago. But I'm not giving up, by golly! I went to the gym Saturday and did a full workout. I was ready, I'm primed, and I'm determined.
Then when I came home from the gym I saw a bag of caramel corn on the back stoop. Vaguely, I remembered ordering it from a boy scout last month in a spirit of ill-advised charity. What the heck. I'll eat it, and then I'll start on my diet. The label says it's a hundred calories per serving and there's ten servings in the bag. I'd have to eat three and a half bags to equal one Thanksgiving dinner.