When discussing girth control with Oprah or her doppelganger at a weight watching Zoom meeting, I recalled the “freshman 15” from college days, the “can’t seem to lose baby weight” even though the baby is in his 50s, and now the painful saga of pandemic pounds.
It was made clear to me when all my lived-in pairs of yoga pants begged for relief from stretched waistbands. Truthfully, who could realize there was that much extra poundage when the scale kept hiding?
Yes, isolation can do that, but I blame it on those few medical marijuana gummies I ate because I now realize they were a gateway drug … to my refrigerator.
With the new freedom to mingle, I met up with a private trainer. A very strange conversation occurred that I recall vividly, though I am still not clear on her actions.
Me: “I’m going to pass out. I can’t continue. I need a nap.”
Trainer: “You did just one push-up!”
With that, she tore up her instructor certification and now plans to become a proctologist assistant.
I decided to handle this challenge by myself, learning certain terms from books and the exercising community. I realized I am a Gemini, the twins on the zodiac chart, meaning obviously I am, and rightfully, eating for two.
Before starting on my regimen, I vowed never to eat anything too heavy to lift over my head. Three days a week I consume food I can eat with one chopstick. I’m getting pretty good at that. Yesterday I speared half a chocolate cake.
I found some exercises to be a cinch. I started doing curls. I’ve been told I now look like Shirley Temple.
While doing my daily walk, my thighs hit together, sounding like applause to me. My bitchy neighbor, on the other hand, complained to security that the knocking noise broke her front window.
More and more I think it’s not weight gain, but an optical illusion since television adds 10 pounds (I have three). But it’s the shrinkage that makes it appear so. Vertical shrinkage that is, which seems to be contagious wherever seasoned citizens gather. It only bothers me whenever someone mentions the movie “Get Shorty” and people chase me.
I’ve now come to terms with all the changes in weight and height. Frankly, it is an enormous relief to no longer be mistaken for Charlize Theron.
Humorologist Jan Marshall, a Village resident, is author of satirical survival books, including “Dancin’ Schmancin’ with the Scars. Finding the Humor No Matter What!” Jan also has written aspirational books for children, “The Littlest Hero” and “The Toothbrush Who Tried to Run Away.” Contact her at JanMarsh@aol.com.
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July 25, 2021 at 06:12AM
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How not to lose those pandemic pounds - OCRegister
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