Well, let me back track a bit.
The writers group met in October here in Kailua.
After brief introductions, we all shared some stories or writing, the works were passed around and comments were shared.
I thought things went pretty well and was looking forward to the next meeting. We broke up, setting a tentative date and location for our next gathering.
It so happened that I had to miss the next set date.
That was the last I heard of the group.
Now, I thought perhaps I had rubbed someone the wrong way or worse, the story I submitted was not serious enough for what the group wanted to accomplish.
Two months went by and I heard nary a peep from anyone in the group.
Okay.
I got the shaft.
Sort of baffling, but after three years of art school and living with critiques all the time, you sort of learn to not let this kind of thing get you down. Getting the shaft I mean.
What I mean is, when you take something creative you did and put it out there to see if it sticks, inevitably, sometimes it doesn't.
When it comes to working in a group, you find that sometimes(especially when working with artists) you find yourself the odd man out.
Hey, no blood no foul.
Anyways, I'm sitting there in front of Tamura's and this guy walks up to me and says hey. It's someone from that writing group.
Turns out it was the one and only meeting they had. The dude who organized it apparently went M.I.A. and no one followed up.
Strange.
Well, this person(I don't want to name him, privacy stuff and all that) has everyones email and he said he'd see if they want to meet again.
We'll see how it goes.
So anyways, I was pretty excited about the prospect of the group meeting up again so I put my massive thighs into another gear and made some pretty good time getting home.
I need to get out on my bike and rack up some miles.
Not just to make my saintly objective of four thousand miles(which I don't think is going to happen), but because the evil scale has reared it's glowing red digital eyes.
Now I don't want to sound like some girl or something and be harping on and on about my weight, but I'm telling you, it's not just the scale that gives me the evil eye when I come in over my goal. The nurse comes around and starts poking at me like the I'm the Pilsbury Doughboy checking to see if I'm going to explode or something.
I gotta say, it's not like this extra weight crept up on me bit by bit. It's more like I ate ten Double Whoppers with cheese one night in my sleep or something and woke up like 3.5 GAGILLION pounds over my goal.
Okay, more like about five pounds.
So, I did some calculating.
One pound equals about thirty five hundred calories. Five pounds equals like seventeen thousand five hundred calories.
I burn about thirty calories per mile.
Let's see:
17,500/30=583.34 miles.
Just for fun, one Dcuble Whopper with cheese equals approximately one thousand calories, so:
17,500/1000=17.5 Whoppers.
One Snickers Ice Cream bar is a hundred and eighty calories.
17,500/180=97.2
Okay, so I ate 17.5 Double Whoppers with cheese in my sleep and woke up five pounds heavy.
Actually, that doesn't sound right.
Well, I didn't eat 17.5 Whoppers with cheese, but if I did, I would have to cycle around Oahu like five times(the Dick Evans Memorial Race is 112 miles) to work off those freakin Whoppers:
I think I would have preferred to eat 97.2 Snickers Ice Cream bars.
Okay, okay, I know that this is not how it really works out, but it was kinda fun imagining eating 17.5 Double Whoppers with cheese or 97.2 Snickers Ice Cream bars.
Bottom line, I'm fat again.
No wonder I'm having so much trouble riding in the wind.
Coeficient of drag, don't you know.
I still have to cycle five hundred and eighty three miles to work off this weight.
We'll see how that goes.
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