When the pestilence descended several months ago, I was in pretty much the best physical shape I've been in the last forty years, with the exception of my eyeball adventures. I was lean and limber. In a side view I was basically a stick figure, except for a gentle curve extending from my upper torso to my midriff, where a modest beer belly resided.
That was then.
Since then, that gentle curve has morphed into something completely different. The word "bulbous" comes to mind.
Yup, the pestilence has made me fat.
I blame the Farm Manager. She loves to cook. I love to eat. In normal times this balanced out fairly well. But in this time of pestilence, with us being home all the time, she has been cooking twice as often as she ever used to, and therefore I've been eating twice as much.
In spite of all the morning walks and the hikes on the Bruce Trail and the bicycle rides, I'm starting to look a lot like Michael Moore.
One of these days I'm going to tackle this problem head-on.
But first, I need to check out that killer pasta dish that just came out of the Instant Pot.
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