All those late-night eating binges, T-bone steaks, chocolate cakes, and bottomless bowls of pasta have finally taken their toll on my fragile (?) anatomy. I have gained weight.

If you’d tell me, “Gained weight? It’s probably just one or two pounds! Get a grip, you sissy!” you’re wrong. The other day I looked at the mirror and I saw this monstrosity staring back at me:

I was about to call the cops and report that an intruder had invaded my house when I suddenly realized that it was just me. Then I really began to get scared. I was thinking: what the hell have I done to get this fat? Am I really that much of a slob? Wait, aren’t those man-boobs? What happened to my (imaginary) washboard abs?

I never thought I would be this fat. This has got to end. Besides, I don’t want to look like Britney Spears:


*shudder*

So I decided to do something about it. I have quite a number of plans for me to lose weight.

Plan # 1: Diet
Ok. This is simple enough. I’ll just go about my daily work with a minimum amount of food in my stomach, wait a few weeks, and voila! svelte me.

In reality though, it’s not as simple as it seems. I started the day with a slice of bread and a cup of coffee. I thought it was gonna be enough to sustain me for the rest of the morning. What I didn’t anticipate is that walking to work with the sun mercilessly beating down on you does expend a lot of energy. Now I know how it feels to be walking down the stretch of Ortigas with a bad case of vertigo. I never even made it into the office; I just passed out in front of our door. My boss woke me up later with his patented soccer field kick. In the crotch.

There has got to be a better way to lose weight.

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Plan # 2: Join a Gym
With me swearing off dieting forever, I decided to join a gym. How bad can it get? I mean, I’d get inspiration from those slim bodies I’ll be exercising with. I am gonna look around, and see muscular men in the body I am gonna get when I am through (wait, let me rephrase that, that sounded gay) and slim women who are gonna be eye candy. I can imagine myself running on the treadmill, iPod set to the Matisyahu playlist, burning my fats away. I’d be a muscular hot piece of man when I get off the treadmill.

So I excitedly pack my gym bag with Gatorade, granola bars, my iPod, and off to the gym I went. I got on the treadmill, playing the scenario I had made up for myself over and over again. I was about to start my workout when I realized that my iPod’s cord was caught on the rail. I reached over to untangle it.

Then some dolt turned the treadmill on.

Long story short, I am now looking for a nice pair of iPod earphones.

Also, when I came to, I realized that there wasn’t anyone in the room qualified to be called “eye candy”. Everyone in the gym was even fatter than me and was wearing… pink form-fitting spandex jumpsuits. It was like a scene straight out of my nightmares.

Plan # 3: Jogging
Since me and treadmills (and gyms in general) don’t go along together, I decided to take up jogging. I realized that the morning air and sunshine would do me good. I won’t pass out of hunger. My iPod won’t snag onto anything. And if I ever see another horrible sight, I can just outrun it.

I got my cross-trainers, did my stretching exercises, and I jogged away.

It actually felt good! Jogging around the village, breaking up a nice sweat, with Pedicab blaring in my ears, is the life. Finally, I thought, this is something I could do! The fresh air is invigorating. I take a deep breath to fill my lungs-

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Then a car passed by me, spewing thick black smoke in the air.

I actually stopped, because I was coughing too much and my eyes became so watery for me to go on. When I finally finished my coughing fit, I opened my eyes to see:

A dog, two meters away, staring at me with suspicion. It was growling.

And oh, did I mention that I have a phobia of strange, angry, and possibly rabid dogs?

At this point I was saying my prayers to all the saints I have had the good fortune of meeting in religion class. I stepped back slowly, muttering “nice doggy… don’t bite” under my breath. Then at the first sign of motion, the dog barked like crazy and lunged at me.

Of course, I ran like hell.

Thus I went home with my legs aching, smelling like car exhaust, my heart racing because of two close shaves with the dog, and a with large lump on my forehead because stupid me failed to see the parked truck in front of me and its damn side mirror.

And oh, I’m still fat.

Plan # 4:
OK then. For plan # 4, I intend to… Wait, there’s no plan # 4. I give up.

* Read Part 2 here.

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