Its funny how you adapt your mind to your body over time.
When I was young I was a sprinter. Masses of fast-twitch muscle in those finely-tuned tree trunk legs of mine, y'see. Years later I bacame relatively weighty. Too much fatty food and alcohol, too little exercise. It happened without me realising it.
And then, a few years ago, a very intensive exercise regime that I had forced upon myself, coupled with a trip to sweltering China, a drastic cut in my alcohol consumption, and a switch of diet from grill-steaks to carbohydrate (a reverse-Atkins!) made the stones drop off me (metric readers - 1 stone = 6.35029318 kilograms; thank you Google Calculator.)
I'd hardly noticed. OK, so some of my trousers seemed to have become too small to humanly fit my waist into - but surely my hip-bones have always been that width, there's no way I could have ever fit into them - they must've shrunk in the wash.
Or maybe I'd hardly cared - yeah, I was thin - too thin - for a while, as I exercised my body to the bone in a bid to exert some control over my life, control that I felt I was lacking in my mind, and that I could only grasp by changing it. More socially acceptable than self-harm, less self-servingly-self-destructive than bulimia. I had found what I needed to gain that mental inner strength without shame, to gain that control I was lacking, to confront my demons head-on in the sweat of adrenaline, and to boost my self-esteem by turning myself into a god. Everything.
And I did manage to find everything that I needed. I found myself. And I liked what I found. So I stopped exercising, no longer needing the pain, or the adrenaline, or the need to change myself, or the means to delve into the dark recesses of myself where I wouldn't normally dare to tred.
And, over time, my bodily volume has filled as adipose tissue has accumulated. Not a problem - I feel better not being able to feel bones through flesh, and I'm told I look good. I certainly feel healthier, in a different kind of manner to the healthiness I felt when I was running for hours every other night.
The problem, and the reason for starting this slightly digressive essay, is that I can't fit into my bleedin' salopettes, and I'm going to need them in a few days. Jeez, I shouldn't be sitting here writing this guff, I should be finishing off my packing before doing sit-ups for the rest of the night - otherwise, myself and my skiing trousers just aren't going to have a good symbiotic relationship. Grrrrroan! Maybe I can perform liposuction with a vacuum cleaner. (But not through that nozzle.)
So the Viper Squad Ten blog will be bereft of Starbuck-based excitement for a week or so. Hopefully my Sub Editors will keep the home-fires burning with their inimitable style of bollox. Whatever, I shall see y'all soon, complete with broken leg and a girdle of pinched-away flesh encircling the circumference of my waist.