Title would make an interesting moniker for a song, considering that coming down implies someone being in a state of inebriation or at least being a bit high the night before.
Nope. Dined on Indian spiced braised lamb shanks with one glass of Argentinian merlot to chase it down. Afterwards it was water and a short evening of nothing-doing. This morning I have made the bacon butties, served them to She Who Will Be Obeyed and her birthday celebratin' dad along with the life giving coffee. So now begins the coming' down part in which I perform the kitchen field day with particular concentration on removing grease from pans and surfaces.
Note: I hate the fact the house reeks of bacon, but that is the price we pay for first world affluence.
My march to a slimmer waist-line continues unabated, having been on this forced march since the beginning of December. In the previous five days I have walked no less than 27 miles on the treadmill with good result. My daily wear belt has no more notches and is loose thereby making my gig line look sloppy. Eight more pounds will see me back in my London era suits and jackets, which is a goal. According to Captain Ron; "Incentives are good, I learned that in rehab..."
In the past ten years I have packed on a significant amount of tonnage and in which I have bounced up and down (five pounds at a time) and continue to have been frustrated by the hopelessness of being fat. For instance, I was running four miles a day back in June and all I did was hover at a point fifteen pounds above my present tonnage. The results were that I got very sore knees and still the heap big waist. On Thanksgiving, my very good friend and beer drinking partner Phil informed me he was on that Atkins thing, and that he dropped a couple pant-sizes. So off I went on the same mission but instead of going hard-core into so-called dieting I will resolve to enjoy wine or beer on special days along with whatever cake or desserts, too.
My overall sense of physical feeling today is one of positive goodness. I walk five or six miles on the treadmill, pump a little iron in our gym and get the ol' heart rate up and still take the recuperative naps. Cutting out the excess carbs has been minimally hard, and giving up dried fruit and other goodies like bread is a tough habit to break, sort of. But I'm eating salads and regular foods anyway, and in fact it's not much of a difference from my regular dining experience. Just no breads, cereals, fruit and beer. We don't eat much processed foods around here, so everyone else residing at the Veldt Lounge and Serengetti Spa is not put out too much.
Besides, She Who Will Be Obeyed deserves someone who looks reasonable in nice attire and photographs well. Like the old days...
The take away line I like in that song is "...Recallin' what made it a ball".
T-Minus six days until the next underway period to St Augustine.
The bread addiction is wicked to try and break. The other carbs are not as difficult for me.
I hear you, my Long Lost brother! Especially the sourdough bread from SF.
The sourdough bread from SF is a product of Satan. I have never used crack cocaine but if it's as bad as a loaf of that fresh baked bread - with butter on it...
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