Who needs Alli?

Who knew that being momentarily unhealthy when you've just passed 100 days of healthy could have a similarly "explosive" effect on your body as the "take a change of clothes to work" pill?

But I've gotten ahead of myself.

How was the Cheesetravaganza Friday, you ask?

Well, I did buy some lovely smoked Swiss to eat for lunch with the tomatoes and basil and yummy bread I picked up at the Farmers Market Thursday night. (Along with some mushrooms. Some far-out, funky mushrooms, the likes of which I'd never seen before. Sorry, Stef.) But I also decided to go whole-hog Friday night, and drive across town to my old neighborhood for a take-out order of the greasiest, cheesiest cheese fries in town, loaded with chives and jalapenos. I figured I'd toss down some fries, watch the new episode of "Monk," and then do my workout later.

Well, I made a game effort, but I couldn't get down even a fraction of the huge pile of decadence. I stuck the remainder in the fridge, and got comfortable on the couch in anticipation of Tony Shalhoub. Some time later, I was awakened by a knock on the door--my across-the-street neighbor, carrying the tale of a mysterious man in a dark green car, spotted a couple of times in the 'hood, and possibly up to no good. We chatted for a moment, and then I went back inside.

"Rumble, rumble."

Was that my stomach? Oh, this can't be good.

"RUMBLE, RUMBLE!"

Well, I made it to the bathroom. And again, a few minutes later. Yowza! I don't really think it was the cheese, so much as it was the grease. I've really cut back on fried foods lately, and I just don't think my system knew how to process it. So it simply expelled it in the most efficient way possible. Thanks, colon!

At any rate, I staggered back to the couch, sweating, and realized...I still have to do my workout. It's Day 100! I can't skip the workout on Day 100! So I did it. The dance workout. Which, though vigorous, is several minutes shorter than the regular workout. And let's talk about some sweat. Lord have mercy. But I made it through, and I must admit, I was quite impressed with my devotion to my cause!

The next day I decided to further prove my devotion by purchasing (or having my mother purchase for me, as an early birthday present, as the case may be) some actual athletic shoes. What have I been using? Well, nothing. I've been working out barefoot. I know "they" will tell you that's bad for you, but I think that's largely because "they" are the manufacturers of athletic shoes. Plenty of physical activity takes place barefoot--modern dance, gymnastics, etc. However, while I maintain that working out barefoot isn't necessarily bad for you, I was building some pretty serious calluses on the soles of my feet, and I thought perhaps a good pair of shoes would be a smart thing to have. And maybe I'll actually want to go down to the Riverparks and walk the path some lovely weekend afternoon, and since I generally try to be smarter in all things than Britney Spears, I'll need some shoes to walk in questionably hygienic public areas.

It seemed a simple enough task. My mother has a department store credit card, the department store's having a big sale--let's buy some shoes. But I won't buy leather shoes, and I won't buy Nike shoes, and I want some actual "meant for exercise" shoes, not ones that just look like athletic shoes. And that proved to be a somewhat more difficult task. There ended up being one, and only one, pair of shoes that met my criteria, and fit my feet.

So what's the problem? They're so aggressively shiny and bright. There is PINK. There are metallic silvery strips. They're LOUD. I kept searching the shelves, convinced I'd missed the nice, tasteful pair lurking there, but no. I hadn't. It was pink and silver or nothing. So we bought them. And my mother and I giggled all the way to the cash register. I am NOT, for those who don't know me in real life, a pink and shiny shoe person. I am a black shoe person, mostly, with occasional forays into tastefully-colored sandals. I told my mother I'd be sure to dim the lights before I worked out in them--wouldn't want to go blind from the reflections of the metallic strips. We giggled some more. We've been giggling about them for three days now.

We are obviously easily amused.

Okay, that's enough for today. It's way past time for me to go do something klutzy and/or embarrassing. I have used my Tide-to-Go pen FOUR times today, and it's only 3:00. I have also attempted to exit the building where I have worked on and off for ELEVEN YEARS, only to be stopped in my tracks because I was pushing on the wrong side of the door. ELEVEN YEARS, folks.

Pure genius.