Waterboy

The new diet continues. I am eating lots of not very exciting food, high in protein and low in carbohydrates. On top of this I am suppose to drink at least a gallon of water every day. My understanding of the situation is that I need all this water to transport the protein to the muscle. It also is transporting me to the bathroom on a fairly constant basis.

I am becoming conversant with every public rest room in the Boston area. (No smart remarks) I have always had a bladder the size of a pea, but in conjunction with middle age and large quantities of water, I feel like I should be carrying a bucket around with me. Lucky for me there is a bathroom right down the hall from my desk at work. On the down side there are no rest stops between my office and my apartment. I try to remember to make a stop before I leave for home in the evening, though on nights when I have forgotten, it has sometimes been a race to the finish.

All in all this, more than exercise and a bland diet, is making me question my grasp on sanity. My friends, and especially the Monkey all visibly shudder when they think about the hour at which I choose to rise to worship at the altar of fitness. Honestly, I have become so boring over the past few years that I genuinely do not mind being in bed by 9 so I can be up by 4:30 in order to give myself enough time to regain consciousness so that I can be dressed, coffeed and out the door by 5:30 in order to be at the door of the gym when it opens. I think I am also at an age where if I waited till after work as I used to do when I was younger, I'd never actually go.

It's the water. The one gallon plus of water every day that I do not understand subjecting myself to. I seem to spend the better part of any given day drinking water and looking for the bathroom, trying to evade people who have questions at work so I can go to the bathroom and drinking more water and making more pit stops. Then drinking more water so that I can start all over again. It is like some bizarre religious rite. I am put in mind of all of the physical mortifications that I read about the saints putting themselves through in my long distant Catholic boyhood. Was there a saint who drank huge quantities of water so that they could be waylaid by long winded faculty members in the middle of an emergency run to the restroom? Where will it all end?

The bland diet I can put up with because it adds to the joy of cheating and actually eating an absolutely delicious meal that in no way can be construed as being good for you. I have also fallen into the perversity of anyone who comes to enjoy weight lifting in that there is something satisfying about having "good" muscle aches. But the water, I just don't understand why that isn't the breaking point, the proverbial straw. It's a nuisance to constantly be making sure I am meeting my quota for the day and even more bothersome to be relieving myself of this self imposed liquid burden and looking for places to seek relief.

I suppose that I will have to chalk it up to vanity, which is a pretty ridiculous reason for someone with a puss like mine. It's not gonna' stop me, but it's still a pretty silly reason.