The Scales Don’t Mind

I have dropped 19 pounds since the start of this mad dash, and from inside sources Easy-E has secret plans to sever a major limp if the race is photo finish worthy. Can’t win E if you keep stopping at In-n-Out in route to All You Can Eat Sushi… Algebra won’t save that math.

In a contest where it’s all about the scale, I have begun tricking the ole pound counter. Instead of logging in the L-Bs before a work out, I’ll wait until the sweat has rolled and the buzzer’s sounded to step on. Nothing new there, it’s a complete mental game – like setting your alarm clock and car clock 12 minutes fast to continue the illusion of urgency.

My personal goals and aspirations are one part uncultured insincere narcissism and three parts “how the freak am I going to ever look as good as him!?!” So please understand intentions don’t necessitate a cheat to win… its money holding me back. Heck, I can’t afford the plane ticket to Tijuana and my Spanish is so bad Dr. Still Ur Kidney would probably double D my chest and Botox my eyelids closed. But understand, all-right minded slouches game the system a bit. For me, the pre-weigh-in required me to eat a major meal and Zeus the cosmic forces to increase galactic gravity to that of Jupiter (for those keeping score at home, that’s two and a half times that of our wet rock).

If I’m already in this state of mind, then fasting and purging a week prior to the final weigh-in should be expected. I am no saint to my holy flesh temple, so come November 7th, there’s a possibility the post-weigh-in will see my first non-Karen-Carpenter Heimlich, non-fluid meal of the runner up month of deuce double zero to the nine.

And haters to my grind may say -- J’s to laid back to compete… I scoff at the italic notation, and purge in their general direction!