One big worry I have relating to the current worldwide pandemic is just how fat the average American will be when it ends. Besides the fact that gyms are closed and a general malaise has fallen over the populous, certainly a reasonable response to the daily death totals and stay-at-home orders, I can't help but think that binge-eating while splayed on a sofa in front of a screen has become a common scenario in most households. And if my brother-in-law's take-out pizza business, which last Saturday saw its best one-day sales since opening ten months ago, is any indication, they're not binge-eating kale and broccoli.
I personally have participated in such behavior since the onset of Covid-19. Historically vigilant in such matters -- I've been on a diet since I was 12 -- I rarely indulge in anything that tastes good. Combined with my twice-weekly session with a personal CrossFit trainer and frequent walks, I have managed to cling to the same body, basically, for most of my adult life. But now, I figure: Why bother? If the world is going to an end, and if not the world then surely my own species, why not go out with a bang? And by "bang" I mean gobs of ice cream, boxes of cookies, bags of jelly beans (it is Easter season after all) and the occasional four-cheese-extra-mozzarella pizza.
| Fat, Samoan and virus-free! |
