Dude. Weight Watchers. What gives?
I gave you a try about a year ago and, yeah, you worked for me. And it was awesome. I feel like I really learned something in those three months; I really got the drive to eat better, to exercise, to see what I could do about my weight and living the way I wanted to.
But, now, I hate you.
You worked for me. But you're driving my mother crazy. And it's killing me.
I went to my first baseball game last night in probably ten years. It was a Mets/A's game and it went into extra innings - finally ended after thirteen, but we left after the top of the eleventh. It was refreshing to know I've still got a decent eye, calling balls and strikes, knowing when the outfielder was going to catch that pop fly to center and when he wasn't. And though I don't need a reason to miss it, I started thinking about my days playing softball.
That sport was my world. As much as I started to hate practice, I really loved that sport. I played catch with my mom or my dad, I played games with my friends, I got the nickname "Big Mac." I had a pretty badass batting average (for a nine-year-old). Sure, I've probably always had an obsessive personality, meaning I fell in love and lost the game in the blink of an eye. But I miss it; I do.
Please enjoy this picture of an interview with a competitor on American Ninja Warrior, showing on the SyFy channel on the TV in the hotel room from when I roadtripped down to Wilmington, NC.
Pic spam at its finest, amirite?