Exercise: The Antifood

It's Opposite Day somewhere, so I'm going to seize this opportunity to wax semi-poetic in my food blog on the subject of Exercise: The Antifood.

For the past two weeks, my husband and I have gone on modest neighborhood hikes each evening after I get home from work. We live in an area full of horse trails, so these hikes are a practical way to get some enjoyable, regular exercise without having to spend money on a gym membership or personal machines (bikes, not-bikes, etc.).

I have begun to shrink. I have begun to shrink much more steadily than I did when I tried a food-only approach. I dream of going to comic book conventions dressed like Leeloo from "The Fifth Element." Ace bandages, ribs, orange hair, invisible eyebrows.

Mind you, the bodily changes that I have ACTUALLY undergone as a result of a mere two weeks of mild exercise are subtle enough that I'm sure only I can see them. Even my clothes are only vaguely aware of it. But I can see the changes, and I am prematurely smug, because premature smugness suits me so. (Even though I tentatively anticipate gaining the weight back once my husband's classes start up again next month, because he will longer be available in the evenings to join me. I will likely binge on video games, almond butter and "Torchwood" each night to numb my loneliness. But this is entirely enough of that kind of talk! I am here, writing right now, to discuss basic, daily exercise like it's some new thing I just found.)

I have concluded that exercise is antifood.

Similar to a specialized antimatter, in that it mathematically cancels out food. The food that one has already eaten; the food that one is eating right now; the food that one will eat later.

As with all things that refer ever-so-vaguely to numbers, this makes me smile.