If You Can’t Take The Heat…

In the continuing effort to keep rockin’ my smokin’ hot bod, I went for a walk after work yesterday. Temperatures were in the low 90s, so I kept the walk/jog to three miles. (I only jog the hills.)

I was maintaining a decent pace, and after my first hill jog, I started to feel… uneasy. I’ve been walking for a while now, and the three mile trek I was on usually takes me less than forty minutes.

Yesterday was different.

I was sweating more than normal, but I brought a bottle of water to keep cool. About a mile and a half in, though, my stomach started to hurt. A lot. I felt like I was going to simultaneously barf and break into the poops at the same time.

Barfing won…

Continue reading “If You Can’t Take The Heat…”

What’s The Skinny?

Redhead Kid From The Sandlot

As you know, I am recovering from abdominal surgery. (You know this because I have been beating the issue like a rented mule in a pathetic cry for attention.) Any hoo, the surgery frakked up my tummy, er, gut, er, crap factory, and while most of the weight I lost by ditching carbs is still gone, my stomach is still a little distended and I gained a few pounds.

I’m currently sitting at 190 pounds, which is what I weighed in the police academy 22 years ago. I know I can lose ten more pounds, but I still think I look horrendous. Not that I ever had a flattering opinion of myself. Yesterday, however, I was in classroom training, again, because all Philly cops do anymore is eat donuts and receive classroom training. The class was “Tactical Medicine,” and the department was instructing us on many live-saving instruments like combat gauze, Israeli bandages, and Nasopharyngeal airway tubes.

None of which the department owns, or dispenses to its officers. So… yeah.

We did get retrained on the tourniquet, an item we were actually issued, so there’s that.

We break for lunch and I run screaming toward the parking lot anticipating an Arby’s roast beef with a side of cyanide. I finished the written test – yes, shut up – first, so the lot was mostly empty.

Except for this female officer.

This girl is walking toward me, and I immediately think to myself, “Damn, she’s pretty cute.” She gets closer, and I think, “Wait, I know her, don’t I?” As she reaches me, I realize it’s Lisa, a cop who worked in my division and married one of my coworkers. Very pretty, nice as pie, and a good cop.

Lisa walks by me and I smile. She stops, looks at me, looks again, and says, “Wyatt, is that you?” I smiled and said yes, slightly offended she didn’t recognize me because of my morbid obesity. Her jaw drops, and she exclaims, “My god, you’re unrecognizable!”

(Yes, it’s not my fault I’m fat and ugly; blame my parents and salt ans vinegar potato chips.)

But, but, that wasn’t it at all…

“You look great! I didn’t even recognize you with all the weight you lost. How much are you down?” I told her as of today’s weigh-in I am down 22 pounds, and she replied, “Well you look great. Really, really great!” before running to her class.

As I continued the walk to the Wyattobile, I started getting stabbing muscle cramps. Something was wrong with my face, and I thought I was having a stroke. I didn’t smell toast, so that couldn’t be it. Something odd was definitely going on, though, because my mouth was going into spasms, turning upward beyond my control. My teeth started to show, and my eyes became three sizes larger.

I grabbed an instructor to see if he could explain this phenomenon to me, and he said, “Dude, that’s a smile.”

A smile? Hmm, never heard of it.