Metabolism

Micah is sick. Nothing serious, just a little phlegmy, with an occasional "I've got the Black Lung, Pop" cough. It is oddly adorable. With my little Tub of Flesh's sickness comes random sleep patterns.

I fell to sleep watching Brian Regan with my wife, actually I'm lying, Aleena fell asleep to Brian Reagan, I promptly switched to old school BYU football highlights. I have exhausted clips of the OU game and but haven't had enough BYU. There's a pretty fun highlight reel of the last time we played Oklahoma from the early 90's Copper Bowl on You Tube. Fun, because the cougars creamed them. I am not sure when I fell asleep but Micah was past his Zoolander impression and working hard on his version of those little plant babies from Harry Potter; the ones if you hear their cry you die, when I awoke. My sleep died, and so I went to fetch our little tub of lead. I beat Aleena to the door.

I always feel proud of myself when I am able to help out at night. This is rare as I sleep pretty deep from 4 A.M/ to 7 A.M. If the kids do wake up it is usually during this time. My help really was of minor consequence; Micah was not really interested in me as I have non-functioning equipment. I bought him to Leens and determined that Micah the Mandrake did in fact murder sleep from my eyes so what now? I pondered my dilemma and felt a tugging in my tummy.

I wish I could say I had a brilliant Idea, and determined I would spend some time ferreting it out. Nope, the tugging was very single minded. Burnt Almond Fudge. You're not really supposed to to eat after dinner much. Your digestive system is trying to wind down . Supposedly you produce more fat cells when you eat late at night. I have no guilt nagging at me for this. Or at least, I mostly ignore it. While pecking this little blurb out, the keys have become ever so slightly sticky. I have savored a "healthy" serving of ice cream, that I covered with a splash of whipping cream and, for good measure, skim milk. You see, I like to mix it up to the consistency of mildly thick milk shake. If you know me, you know that the only reason I used skim milk is because it was the only thing in the refrigerator.

I am not going to be able to continue this late night fat, caloric and sugar loading. I have noticed the evidences of a slowing metabolism most recently when I threw up during the last leg of the Bear Lake Triathlon. I have not had a six pack for about 5 years, but to say I have a spare would be a gross overstatement. Depending on the time of day, my Body Mass Index is around a 23.5 or a 26.5. It ranges significantly depending on how compressed my spine is at the time. If I can stretch out to 6'4" and 1/4, I pull the lower BMI. The larger number is applicable at the end of any strenuous day and it declares me to be overweight. Mind you I am no where near the wonderful massivity that is my super chunk of soft and spongy,I have not neck, Micah.

This is disconcerting. How can I be overweight if I still have and wear pants from 10th grade? Oh, that's right, I went through that stage where if I couldn't put a fist and a half between my pant waistband and my hips I didn't feel comfortable in them. So my conclusion: I want my six pack back. Call it a third-of-a-life crisis, but along with the lengthening of my hair, the reemergence of my abs would superficially boost my personal confidence. So, to you, my 2000 calorie super binge of chocolate perfection, I bid ado.