Planning to ship a couple of boxes to some friends in France, my wife asked me to help her weigh them to get an idea of how much this would cost. Having only a bathroom scale and the boxes being to big to fit on it, we decided I would weigh myself, and then I would hold onto a box — the difference between me, and me with the box, should be the weight of the box.
I stood on the scale and looked down.
How can I weigh 200 pounds?
It’s true, I have been weighing in at about 190 pounds for the last several weeks, but where did the extra ten pounds come in?
Like so many others, I have a job that keeps me sitting sedentary for most of the day. The hours of sitting are moved along with mouthfuls of junk food — carbonated soda, salty chips, chocolate bars, and doughnuts.
I have a moving and rather odd shift that doesn’t allow for too many daylight hours in which I can be active. By the time I do get home, I’m often so exhausted that all I want to do is sit on the couch and vegetate.
Even on a day like today, when my shift gets off early and I start the day with plans of eating right and maybe hitting the gym on my way home, I am sabotaged by the local vending lady and her pies.
As a way to say thank you for using her services, she brought in a dozen or so lovely, delicious pies. Chocolate pies, lemon pies and scrumptious, coconut cream pies.
How could I resist?
It’s like this all the time. Folks go to Steak and Shake and pick me up a caramel vanilla milk shake. The boss brings in pastries for a Friday morning meeting. One of the supervisor orders pizza for her meeting. On and on, it is a steady stream of sugar, salts, and fats paraded in front of my useless will power.