The funny thing about the gym, for me at least, is that as soon as I step trough the doors that separates the real world from the sweat and testosterone filled haven for those seeking their idea of physical perfection is that I conjure up images of the food I was to be intimately involved with.
Near pornographic scenes begin playing through my head – an oral orgy of sweet and savory with saltiness bringing up the rear.
Brownies. Cookies. Ice Cream. Huge quivering slabs of red meat. Racks of ribs. Succulent pork loins and juicy chicken breasts. Cakes of all shapes and sizes. Buttery filets of fish from all over the sea. Conglomeration of macaroni, cheese, and hot sauce.
Can you imagine the kind of hell I’m in during my workouts? The entire time, the though of food running rampant through my head. It’s like a crack whore thinking of the score she’s going to buy with the money she’s going to get while doing her thang. Eyah, actually, I’m sure that’s exactly what she’s thinking about and it really doesn’t apply at all.
Hmmm….
Ok, better analogy.
[insert analogy of having perverse thoughts of food while performing an activity who’s sole purpose is to negate the effects of butter and fat and sugar]
Yea, you guys can do all of the thinking.
I’ve suddenly gotten the urge to masticate a hotdog or two.
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