Just Say No (to Twinkies)

Ok. It's been five days now since I decided that I wasn't going to settle for being that over weight, soft bodied, middle aged has been. So far, so good. I've gone all simple this week.
Ride the exercise bike in the morning when I first get up.
Ride the exercise bike when I get home from work in the afternoon.
Simple.
Nothing major, an easy as pie routine.
I had to take this morning off because my thighs were still hurting and I am not looking to kill myself here. Rest assured that I am going to be on the bike this afternoon. Not that you really care if I do or don't. That was more of a reminder for me to not forget that I need to go long this afternoon on the bike to make up for my slacking this morning.
I was even thinking of taking some batting practive at a local indoor batting cage that I heard about in passing.
Sweet.
BP for lunch.
I can dig it.
Oh yeah. I happened by one of those supermarket scale thingys. I weighed myself. You have to have a baseline to measure against right?
237.
Two hundred and thirty seven pounds of man flesh.
Nice.
People seem to be surprised when I mention my wieght.
"Really? That's funny, you don't look like you weight an eighth of a ton..."
I know. It's all in my ass. Must be the lead.
The goal, in case I have failed to mention it before, is to get as close to 200 lbs as I can without having to resort to amputating someting. I figure I can do this is about 3 1/2 - 4 months. Nice easy pace.
At least thats the plan. Don't worry, I'll be sure to bore you with the details of my endeavor. Despite the daunting task before me I feel relaxed and confident and pretty damn good about myself.
Know why?
I can walk past the snack machine now and say to that sexy pack of twinkies:
"Hey ho - ho - hostess twinkies two pack, with your delicous golden cake shell and soft creamy filling...
I don't need you!
I am riding my exercise bike!"
Yes. In your face twinkie the kid!
You rat bastard!
I feel better, don't you?
Anyway, I was looking through some old pics last night and I was just disgusted with the growth of my previously mentioned dickey do dunlap. Sad. So, so sad.
I was once in pretty good shape.
Now? Now I am like a nice ball of dough left out to rise.
Cool. Now I can just tell people to eat me.
But to my old nemesis dickey do dunlap, I said "Dickey my boy... you are dead. Dead without a pension. Dead like David Hasselhoffs career! You hear me? Dead I tell you. You will be wasted away to nothing and I will free my awesome sixpack from beneath your layers of fatty insulation."
You have to let these things know who's boss.
Ok. I am off to get a protein shake and a power bar.
Just kidding. I am going to get some water.
Sheesh... What do you think I am? Some sort of health nazi?