My big news of late is that while sitting there at the SAP Open (see the 2007 tale in Lobs and Volleys I had an intellectual breakthrough and am going to do some reprioritizing: Learning some more damn Dutch has moved to the top of my list. I want my improvement to blow my friends there away when I arrive in May. Besides, I’m in too deep now: my German has been destroyed or at least verschmutzt by my Dutch study and my Spanish and French, forgot.
That stack of books I haven’t read yet can just wait awhile. That list of books I haven’t bought or borrowed from the library can just get longer. Some of those magazine subscriptions can just expire. The tedious emails I’ve been sending folks are going to become less frequent, or at least shorter. Etc.
The other breakthrough I had at the Open I already mentioned, the intention to return to the gym. And this morning my resolve was still firm, so I Segwayed down there.
After suiting out, I approached the scale with some trepidation, wondering just how bad it was going to be. What? I reset the scale and tried again, but got the same result. A third try confirmed it. I’ve lost weight.
How the hell is this possible? I mean, could I have maybe lost a dozen pounds during that three weeks of illness before the Open and then gained only half of it back during my week of gluttonizing in between watching the matches.
I was thrilled. I was ecstatic. I had been emotionally prepared to grit my teeth and get through the workout on sheer shame. Instead, I hit those machines like a galley slave who’s just been told he can get time off for extra effort. It’s been ages since I had so much fun at the gym although the giggling did attract some disapproval from the devout. But then, it always did in church, too, didn’t it?
And while I was pumping away on the step machine it hit me: I must have burned a lot of calories at the Open while I was wriggling around so much during crucial points that I rubbed the skin off the backs of my thighs.
Hmmm. Can I maybe market this? Coach Bryan’s Miracle Weight Loss Plan: Squirm Your Way to Thinness.
Here’s a red doorway I like:
