Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Somebody call a doctor

Lately, there’s been something wrong. Though I’ve been incredibly happy, I have been feeling off in some way. It is difficult to explain; please allow me to paint you a picture using a few examples from this weekend.

  • Friday, I went on a grueling 5 hour hike. Living up to the standard set for myself, I spent 4.5 of those hours deciding what I would eat when I got home. Exercise merits a culinary reward. 5 hours of exercise merits a complete gluttonous meltdown. Fudruckers soon became the obvious option for just such an occasion. On the way to Fudruckers, I was seriously considering the pound challenge (a $20 feast including a pound hamburger, large chili cheese fry, fountain drink, and ice cream sundae) which would leave me satisfied with a free T-shirt. These thoughts soon dwindled to only the pound hamburger which quickly became 2/3 of a pound. By the time I ordered, I found myself muttering the words “half pound” and I didn’t even eat all my fries. What’s happening to me?
  • Saturday, I got a to-go box at the world famous Red Iguana in Salt Lake. Let me repeat that: a TO-GO box. That indicates there were leftovers... enough leftovers to take home. What the what?
  • Monday. Independence day. A day of celebration and patriotism. A day of eating. A day of shock and disappointment. I was generously invited to a delicious barbecue with some close friends. Of course, I loaded my plate with both a hamburger and a hot dog to save myself the trouble of going back for seconds, which was inevitable. I don’t need to appear healthier by eating small portions multiple times. I am who I am and that is a one plate man… a one large plate man. I couldn’t finish my hot dog. I’m sorry uncle Sam.
  • Yesterday, I went to the grocery store hungry. When I go to the grocery store full, I spend around $50. Hungry? Call the bank, I need a loan. As I perused every last aisle of that safe haven from the storms of life, I noticed my cart inexplicably empty. I left the store with a bill of $12. Twelve. Dollars. Granted, I was pounding an ice cream cone as I shopped, but still.

Leftover food. Empty shopping carts. These have to be symptoms of some sort of disease.


  1. That does sound troubling Scott. I'm concerned for you. Not being able to finish what's on my plate would be enough to ruin my day. You remember me on the mission.

  2. Scott I'm officially concerned for you. What's next, completely passing up a trip to Tucanos?!?!

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